I’m going swimming tonight with a friend. We are hauling ourselves into the world of fitness and having worked our way (only in conversation you understand, not physically) through the list of sporting activities available to us, we have decided that swimming is probably one of the more inspiring options.
But even swimming presents some tiresome issues which to a couple of corner-cutters like us, could well be enough to deter us from getting out the car at the pool and heading for the nearest pub.
We’ve decided that the biggest drag to swimming, is actually the bit at the end when you shower and change. It’s nothing to do with swimming actual lengths up and down the pool and hopefuly getting knackered. No. It’s the bit where you have to detach yourself from a wringing wet costume, and dry and dress yourself again. Ideally, what we need is someone who can do it for us; quickly whip our cossies off, give us a rub down with a towel and a shaking of talcum powder before back on with our knickers and socks and everything else.
But as our Mothers are not available tonight, we are going to side step a little. Or maybe even fast forward. We’re going to change into our pyjamas. Yes, you read that correctly – our pyjamas. Or in my case, my onesie. We are not too proud to leave the pool in our night attire, to drive straight home and get back in the armchair or even straight to bed.
I messaged my friend earlier just to double check that this is the actual plan. I did suggest we may get stared at and be the talk of the pool. Nonsense, said she, we will look like Beautiful Mermaids.
I’m not sure mermaids wear red Christmas onesies to be honest……