I was planning to take the children to the swimming try-outs for the Goldfins Swimimg Club at the Harry Bailey Aquatic Centre on Tuesday evening from 5.30pm to 6.30pm. The gorgeous Heather rang that morning, and very kindly offered to give us a lift there before her children’s music lessons. She had some toys and clothes to give to me as well, so she appeared at about 4pm and offloaded all of the goodies, much to the delight of Rebecca and Nicholas. She was full of apologies about the fact that the air-conditioning in her car was broken, but hey, it was still a better alternative to the bus, right? Oh my God. We got in and set off, in 35 degrees, with the sun blazing through the windshield. The car has leather seats. It was like sitting in a pressure-cooker. We were stuck in awful traffic and Heather was multi-tasking with a sat-nav and her mobile phone, all the time chatting away about her upcoming weekend away at the lakes. She loves life in Saskatoon; finds it very relaxing and easy, with loads for the kids to do and a great social life. I haven’t met anyone yet who doesn’t love it here, so either they’re all right and it is a great place to live, or they’re all Stepford Wives. Probably the former though. We eventually arrived at the pool and I stumbled out of the car, three pounds lighter. Here’s a link to some of their fun stuff:
Yesterday evening we walked to the shop for Slurpies (Slush Puppies) and spent a couple of hours in the playground, watching people come and go. Everyone is still in summer clothes, so lots of shorts and sun-dresses etc. Every time a man sits down in shorts though, I have a flashback to an excruciatingly embarrassing afternoon I spent in a friend’s house a couple of years ago. The man of the house sat down on a kitchen chair opposite and proceeded to tell me a very long story, all the time dressed in a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. Unfortunately, one of his testicles had escaped and sat there in all its glory for the twenty agonising minutes of the tale. I was dying a thousand deaths. There were too many dreadful possible scenarios. Would he realise and have to tuck himself back in and never be able to look at me again? Would his wife come in and be mortified and get him to tuck it back in and then he’d be mortified and neither of them would be able to look at me again? Would Michael come in and signal some secret man-to-man code to him (“hanging out there bud, wanna deal with it?”). No matter where I looked, it seemed wrong. I tried looking directly at him, but peripheral vision is a curse. I looked away from him, but that seemed just rude, and there was still the peripheral vision issue. Thankfully, he finished the tale, with me nodding along in the appropriate places and…..stood up. The relief was overwhelming. I semi-collapsed into the car to head home. “What on earth is wrong with you?” asked a puzzled Michael. Naturally, he thought it was hilarious. So, a word of advice to all men out there. When you put on a pair of shorts, always perform the following checklist:
Tuck yourself firmly into your underwear of choice first.
Jump up and down a couple of times.
Sit down on a chair in front of a mirror.
Sprawl on an armchair and ask your wife to run a critical eye over you.
If your wife’s friend is sitting opposite you with a “deer-caught-in-headlights” look on her face, it’s probably best to excuse yourself and check your tackle.
Never go commando.
Never. Go. Commando.
P.S. Christopher, Isabel and Benjamin all got into the Goldfins. They’re thrilled. We’re facing three training sessions a week, one on a Saturday morning at 7.30am. The things we do for our kids….