There will be no photos.

Well, that was embarrassing.  Just as I got into the swimming pool yesterday I heard a sort of ‘pop.‘  Then there was this rather pleasant feeling of…freedom across the lower back, and the fresh sensation of the water directly on my skin.  I worked out that something had ‘snapped’ on the back of my swimsuit, and that accounted for these rather nice feelings.  I also worked  out that such a wardrobe malfunction could mean I was in deep doodoo, if not deep water.  But, hey.  I was the only one in the pool, so no drama.  I just continued to enjoy the ‘freedom,’ and the tear in my swimsuit continued to grow.

There was always going to be that moment of reckoning.  I was going to have to get out of the pool at some point.  As it happens, that point arrived when the next scheduled swimmers arrived.  Three of them.  Two of them got into the pool quickly, but the third lingered over by the towels.  I was in no position to assess exactly how my back (backside?) looked in this new swimsuit arrangement. It felt like the split stopped just in the knick of time, if you get my drift.  I tried to keep facing the senior-aged gentleman, avoiding turning my back on him, but eventually I had to turn to grab my towel and make an exit.  Was it my imagination or did his eyes glaze over?

I beat a hasty retreat, as you do in these circumstances, and hoped I hadn’t left any traumatized elderly swimmers in my wake.  On the way to the dressing room, I asked the pool manager to “check it out”– she assured me, between howls of laughter, that my ‘dignity’ was intact.  I want to believe her.   I have to believe her.  She said there was no…er…um… bottom cleavage on show.  What a relief.  And what a relief to get through this without having to say butt crack.          MM