This early afternoon seemed like a good time to go for a swim. The sun was burning people’s asses, the breeze was blowing through their hair as if they’re out for a photo shoot by the beach, all with nary a hint of a darkened cloud in sight.
It seemed like a perfect day to check out who’s contending for the Top 10 Crispiest Girl of the Month in the west zone as well. Now, I did mentioned before I’ve no love for barbecued homo sapiens. However, when you’re as bored as I’m, watching such ‘competition’ ranked next to watching English soap drama Days of Our Lives on the list of Desperate Measures for Ultimate Boredom. I was hoping to catch some intense competition today, especially given that this week is a vacation for tertiary students. Sadly, I didn’t even have to borrow fingers and toes from others to help me count. Those digits from one of my hands were enough. But it’s okay. I was genuinely there for a swim after all.
Alas. THE CURSE worked it way again. Before I was even four laps done, it almost turned into night. Not the actual night but one where the ass-striking clouds replaced the ass-burning sun. Such is how THE CURSE works. Whenever I want to swim, it sends its ass-striking partner in crime to visit me. By the time I’m done with my fifth lap, the entire sky looked like a scene out of Independence Day where the heavens had forgot to pay their electrical bill.
Time to get out of the water. That I did and into the shelter I went hiding, hoping to wait out the rain and finish up my target of 10 laps later. Needless to say, when the angels started to pee, there were still some guys in the pool playing Who’s-Last-Out-Of-Pool-Before-Lifeguard-Haul-Our-Butts. I always find this sort of people totally selfish, because they’re depriving a village somewhere of its idiot. But you’ve to give credit to them. More often than not, they succeed in getting the duty lifeguard to blow the whistle till his entire face turned green before the last of them exits the water.
Today, the last guy out is probably in his thirties and trying to make a fashion statement. Why I say that? Because he’s wearing a pair of swimming trunk with blue floral prints. I’m not sure if girls will be turned on by such fashion. But if I’m a girl, I’ll definitely get turned on. My laughing fits switch to be exact. I won’t be able to stop laughing until reality kicks in and I cringe at the thought of what sort of guy will wear blue floral print trunk. Then again, I’m such a conservative guy that I may be presenting a bias view of fashion here. By the way, did I mention that I’m cute, naive, innocent and sweet as well?
I like it when it rains, watching those little droplets magically falling out of the sky. I like it even though it ruined my afternoon. Rarely do I get the chance to see the raindrops peter platter into a big pool of water. The rain, the tiny splashes, the unpredictable ripples and the rainy day smell and sound translate into a totally tranquil and sanguine time for me. I just have to ignore what I learned in school about these droplets carrying dust particles and whatnots on their way down.
Rainy days also mean there’s no better time to roost in the coolness of my bed. However, since I was going to wait out the rain, the next best thing to do was to read a book, which luckily for me, I did brought one along. It’s a collection of short stories by Stephen King. Ironically, the next story I came to was titled Rainy Season. Talk about coincidences. Thankfully that’s where all coincidences end for the story is about this particular night in a village that rains killer toads every seven years apart. I definitely won’t want killer toads landing on me when I’m only dressed in a pair of swimming trunk. No Sir. I want to be dressed less vulnerable than that.
One hour into waiting and I still saw no signs of the rain abating. Giving up the thoughts of anymore swimming, I went to get change. That’s when I realised I forgot to bring my towel. No big deal, since I’m almost dried from the hour of waiting. I’d just have to go home and shower. Problem remaining was how to get home in the rain? I’d no umbrella, not even a towel to shelter myself from the angels’ relentless pee. The only thing that can shelter me at least a little was my tiny sports bag and my swimming trunk. I relished neither options for fear of ruining the content of my bag or being mistaken for the new neighbourhood superhero respectively. If I want to be a superhero, I’ll design a better mask than just a pair of swimming trunk.
The solution to the problem I decided upon is age-old and simple. I’d waited for the time when the rain let up a little and ran home as if my house is on fire. Actually I walked, but the same urgency is there anyway. By the time I reached home, I was as wet as when I dipped into the pool, except with clothes on this time.