Update

Meanwhile...

Ms. Wet practices!
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Ms. Dangerous takes a beach vacation!

Ms. Dangerous tackles the ocean.

The ocean tackles Ms. Dangerous.

Lesson 6.

Ms. Wet begs to start with freestyle, rather than with diving. Instructor C tells Ms. Wet she is doing so well that she looks like a lap swimmer, never mind that her lap starts at 4 feet and ends in the middle of the pool at 5 1/2. Ms. Dangerous again struggles with synchronizing breathing. Instructor C repeatedly points this out in case Ms. Dangerous, in her gasping, has failed to notice.

Instructor C wants Ms. Wet to swim to the deep end. Ms. Wet refuses, so Instructor C settles for ordering Ms. Dangerous to do it instead. Ms. Dangerous makes it to the end of the lane, still struggling a bit with breathing, yet showing off her treading skills in 12 feet of water.

"You're treading!" exults Instructor C, who then proceeds to announce that she has no confidence in Ms. Dangerous's ability to swim, but she has total faith in Ms. Wet. Ms. Dangerous frowns, treading furiously, but Ms. Wet has yet to be convinced.

Then, Instructor C gives Ms. Dangerous and Ms. Wet an abbreviated instruction in backstroke. In 2 minutes, Instructor C covers the main points, then holds Ms. Wet's shoulders as she makes an attempt. Ms. Dangerous, already given up as a failure, flips over onto her back and strokes down to the middle of the pool. Ms. Wet stands up and watches Ms. Dangerous slip prettily through the water like Esther Williams.

"You just like the backstroke because you don't have to breathe!" accuses Instructor C.

Ms. Dangerous feigns water in the ears and ignores her. Ms. Wet tries to follow with an uncoordinated tangle of arms and legs. After two minutes, Instructor C declares the backstroke learned.

The lesson ends with Instructor C and Ms. Dangerous trying to convince Ms. Wet to jump in the deep end, or the shallow end, or even into a puddle. Ms. Dangerous leaps right into the deep end, whereafter Instructor C tells Ms. Wet that she is a much stronger swimmer than Ms. Dangerous, Ms. Dangerous is hopeless at the freestyle, and Ms. Wet should really be the one to hop in.

Instructor C tells Ms. Wet that she will have conquered her fear by next week, but Ms. Wet would like to note that she hasn't conquered it in the last 20-odd years and has no confidence that 7 more days will make any difference.




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*Thanks to mms0131 for sharing your photo.

"I never practice; I always play."*

Ms. Dangerous prepares to dive into the Ohio River.

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Just kidding!

This is where Ms. Dangerous and Ms. Wet really practice. If this picture were larger and clearer, which for obvious reasons it is not, you would see that Ms. Dangerous is treading precariously in the 5 to 6 foot area, while Ms. Wet is firmly planted in 4 feet of water.

Today Ms. Dangerous learned that what she suspected all along might actually be true: while the sun will almost definitely give her cancer, so might her sunblock! After reading this article at work and having a minor freak-out, she sent her loyal friend to the store to replace her cancer spray with zinc oxide. Her friend obediently purchased every recommended product at the neighborhood CVS. So if you're looking for sunblock that doesn't have risks for cancer, reproductive toxicity, immunotoxicity, neurotoxicity, endocrine disruption, persistence and bioaccumulation, organ system toxicity, or biochemical and cellular level changes on this side of Pittsburgh, you might want to try Walgreens.

As today's events might suggest, swimming out in the open, in the light of day, in public, poses a variety of challenges for our two heroines. While the most obvious difficulties depend on the weather, most of the others can be divided into two major categories: what's in the pool, and who's at the pool. Here are a couple of prime examples.

1. What's that in the poo-l?

On a balmy Sunday, Ms. Dangerous arrives at the public pool at 12:30, fully expecting Ms. Wet to show up a little after 1. Unfortunately, as she enters the gates she is approached by a teenage lifeguard who blushes and informs her that the pool is closed. Ms. Dangerous is confused. The lifeguard mumbles, gestures, and finally explains that someone broke in overnight and "left something" in the bottom of the pool. Several someones, in fact. "We've just finished fishing all of it out," he explains, "Now we're dumping chlorine in the water, but the pool is closed for the day."

Oh crap, thinks Ms. Dangerous, I don't have my cell phone.

Ms. Dangerous has no way to warn Ms. Wet about the closure, so she hops on her bike and rides to the other nearby pool, fully expecting Ms. Wet to show up later. Ms. Wet never arrives, so Ms. Dangerous assumes she just went home.

Two days later, they meet again in yoga class.

"Where were you?!" Ms. Wet exclaims, "I went to the pool but you weren't there!"

Ms. Dangerous stares at her, "Um, didn't they say anything to you?"

Ms. Wet looks confused, "What? Oh and I think there were ants or something at the pool. I got a really bad rash!"

(The rash is on her arm, folks.)

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2. Who's that at the pool?

It might be helpful to know this about Ms. Wet and Ms. Dangerous: While Ms. Wet tends to attract Socially Awkward Music Geeks, Slightly Intoxicated Musicians, and Much Older Men, Ms. Dangerous attracts men who are stuck in the 1980s. Many look like members of Rod Stewart's band. His current band. But members who have been with him for a long time. So, if you're a man in your forties, with tight jeans or a Members Only jacket, and you look like you haven't slept for a week but somehow found the energy to use a can of hairspray on your shoulder-length hair, you will probably find Ms. Dangerous irresistible.

One such fellow happens to be the head lifeguard (we hope) at one of the pools they frequent. With his Ray-Bans, thick mustache, white hi-tops, and deep mineral oil tan, Ms. Dangerous realizes that she should have seen him coming. While all the other lifeguards are teenagers, this man is definitely not.

Yes, that's him. He's losing his pants.
"Great." Ms. Dangerous rolls her eyes.

Unknown to Ms. Dangerous, during one of her clumsy forays into the deep end, Lifeguard Creepy walks along the side of the pool following her every splash and kick. Later, he climbs up onto the lifeguard chair under which Ms. Wet has been practicing a few minutes. After a while, Ms. Dangerous comes to join Ms. Wet in the 5 foot water, under that same lifeguard chair. Suddenly, they hear a voice from above.

"Take some friendly advice." They look up into the afternoon sun.

"Ok?" says Ms. Wet.

"No not you. Her." He points to Ms. Dangerous.

"Um, ok?"

"I've been looking at your legs. You're using them too much. Use your arms."He pauses, expecting a response.

Ms. Dangerous replies, "I can't see you. All I hear is a voice from above." Apparently, that's enough for him.

"Try swimming with your legs together. I have lots of toys that you could play with." He pauses, "Unfortunately none of them are here."

To appease him, or maybe just to shut him up, Ms. Dangerous prepares to swim to the other side of the pool without using her legs.

"Wait! I'll go with you!" says Ms. Wet.

They both try to swim to the other side using only their arms, and both sink immediately.

Ms. Dangerous stops in the middle of the pool and tells Ms. Wet that she needs a break. A break as long as the lifeguard's shift.

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*Wanda Landowska

Lesson 5.

Ms. Wet would like to emphasize that this is ONLY LESSON 5!

Even after a week of nightmares in which giant barges sink to the depths of the pool, never to surface again, Ms. Wet arrives at Lesson 5 determined to continue. Ms. Dangerous, on the other hand, arrives ready and eager to dive into the deep end, her bravado strengthened by her compatriot's anxiety.

Ms. Wet convinces Instructor C to compromise and start the diving lesson at 5.5 feet. (Yes, we know that is too shallow for diving, but Ms. Wet isn't going any deeper.) At the same time, Ms. Dangerous loses a bit of her courage, as she has detailed mental pictures of striking her head on the bottom of the pool.

Before they even enter the water, Instructor C starts the lesson with a dive.

Where is our warm up? thinks Ms. Wet.

Instructor C leaps off the side of the pool with perfection, diving arms-first into the water and torpedoing out under the lane dividers. "See how easy that is?" she asks cheerfully, "Now it's your turn!"

Ms. Wet bravely offers to go first. She takes two dives from a kneeling position, rolling into the pool arms first. Still, she struggles to keep her head down between her arms, instinctive self-preservation causing her to lift it at the last second. This leads to enormous pressure on her sinuses every time she hits the water. "It's burning behind my eyes!" she gasps.

Ms. Dangerous does ok for the first two dives, then suddenly loses stamina and begins belly flopping. "Oww," she moans.

"You know what I do sometimes?" asks Instructor C. "Sometimes with my four- or five-year-olds, I'll grab one of their feet so that they naturally go in head first!"

Ms. Dangerous's eyes widen at the terrifying mental picture. She sputters, "That's where I draw the --"

"Line!" glibly answers Instructor C, "Don't worry, I don't think we'll have to cross that line, will we?"

For a few moments Ms. Dangerous refuses to dive in again, then thinks What the hell.. and goes for it.

They keep at it for the first half of the lesson, Ms. Dangerous goading Ms. Wet with "one more dive," Ms. Wet's not-quite-drowned competitive spirit pushing her to match Ms. Dangerous dive for dive. Both ignore Instructor C as she rhapsodizes about combining diving with streamlining with freestyle, and Ms. Wet thanks her lucky stars that she can still stand up in the water.

Finally they move on to the second half of the lesson: streamlining from the wall, kicking off and staying under water as long as possible. Ms. Wet still can't force her butt under the water. Ms. Dangerous tries to explain to Ms. Wet that she figured out how to do it: bend over in the rag-doll pose from yoga class, then kick off. Instructor C, who has no idea how that sentence will end, stares at Ms. Dangerous as if she is speaking Martian.

They finish the lesson a little worse for wear, Ms. Wet with scraped elbows and knees, Ms. Dangerous with a bruised ego.

"I interrupt the velvety smoothness of my more or less literate syntax with a few sudden words of bar-room vernacular."*

In recounting the tale of our two would-be swimmers, we've neglected to mention an integral component of their lessons.

"Integral component?" questions Ms. Dangerous, "I'd call it more of a minor"
"Annoyance," interrupts Instructor C. "You'd call it a minor annoyance."

"Well, it's starting to"
"Grow. It's starting to grow," finishes Instructor C, nodding vigorously.

Ms. Dangerous smacks the surface of the water with her palm. "You don't always know how"
"Your sentences will end. Yeah, I don't always know how your sentences will end."

"Oh. Maybe you do," sighs Ms. Dangerous.
"Do," echoes Instructor C.


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*Raymond Chandler