Sometimes the Gods are just wonderful to me!
I wasn’t at all looking forward to my swim tonight due to the embarrassment of my last visit (see post called Danse Macabre), and sat thoughtfully in the dark on the taxi rank reading about aliens for ages before I plucked up courage to go, contemplating the relative merits of being ridiculed by the gleaming custodians of the swimming pool compared to staying where I was with my bottom slowly getting bigger due to the chocolate.
In the end of course I resolved not to be put off my expensive Pamper Me membership merely by the threat of a smirk: and stuck my chin in the air and marched in: and oh the kind Gods!
I arrived to discover the young Achilles on the desk looking red and upset with his blond beautiful Hungarian girlfriend waving her hands about and wailing loudly in the waiting area. “You don’t understand how difficult it can be for the body of a woman,” she squeaked piteously; probably with some justice, since as far as I have ever noticed his thoughts haven’t ever travelled much beyond the rowing machine and the dumbbells in the whole of his short life.
He saw me before she did, which was unlucky, because she was in full and detailed flood: and I swept in with aplomb, bestowed a patronising and amused smirk upon him, collected my towel and steamed joyfully off to get changed. On my way out he was pink and reluctant to meet my eye, and I smiled graciously and knowingly with the air of one who understands the little foibles of others, and with a song bubbling in my heart.
And Mark has come home. What a lovely day.
