When I was growing up, my mother took me to tee ball practice where I learned to hit a ball off of a pole. Whenever the ball was hit in my direction, I’d close my eyes and hope my skull was strong enough to sustain a speeding softball. During one catch and throw practice with my mother, the ball actually hit me in the head; causing me to fall to my knees in the kind of five-year old tantrum I wish I could have now whenever I’m reminded that there isn’t a European Connection in Sugar House. That was the end of Tee Ball and I learned that you really should keep your eyes open at all times; even If it is just to see who threw the ball at you.

After that kind of behavior, it isn’t surprising that my mother never signed me up for swimming lessons. Now that I’m twenty-three, it seems necessary that I learn to swim in case a tsunami should ever cover the Salt Lake Valley with water. Seriously, WHAT IF THE ENTIRE VALLEY WAS COVERED WITH WATER?

After my first QUAC practice, I learned that doggy paddling really isn’t swimming and that breathing water is actually drowning. Luckily, a lifeguard hasn’t been needed to dive in and rescue me. Yet. When he does, I’ll make sure to be tan that day and have fancy underwear; err….a Speedo.

I’ll keep you updated as time goes on. I might even post pictures of me in a Speedo; as long as everyone promises not to become obsessed with my cellulite bootie that should probably be on the magazine cover of “HAIRY THINGS”.

Comments (0)