Underwear swimming
Posted Wednesday, May 26, 2004 @ 10:32 PM
I am thoroughly, though not entirely, sunburned from an afternoon spent mostly outside -- and mostly in my underwear. It's a contagious state of being, I've discovered -- in your underwear, I mean.
It was, of course, the first full day of summer, the first day that I can call myself an upperclassman, and the first day of eleven glorious, unplanned weeks graced by the presence of a drivers' license with my name on it. The kind of summer I have always admired and experienced indirectly is finally wholly and completely mine. Eleven weeks of euphoric bliss, baking in the heat of Alabama.
- One week in New York in my current #1 dream college. Writing, no less.
- A correspondence course of American Literature, all to myself -- without a preaching, lecturing soul to guide or inhibit me.
- Beowolf. Twice. I'm not sure how I feel about that yet.
- Teaching one week of writing camp to eighth graders (my favorite age group).
- Caring for my sister's cat with my own set of apartment keys during her annual trip to France with the boyfriend.
- A rigorous Yoga Must Infiltrate Every Drop of My Liquid Soul plan.
But back to underwear. Surely you're all intrigued.
Morgan picked me up at 9:45 to meet Sarah and Mark at the school. We advanced together to Davenport's, Birmingham's best hole-in-the-wall pizza joint, complete with the original Frogger, Pacman, Ms. Pacman, Donkey Kong, and Centipede arcade games -- still only 25 cents.
After a closed Q-2000 (we had originally counted on a game of laser tag) we ended up at Morgan's, sitting lazily in her designer kitchen. And I confess -- it was entirely my idea; I wanted to swim, so Morgan joined me -- and eventually Sarah, Mark, Shaina, and Chase followed. Without a bathing suit, I went in with shorts and a tank top. Which, of course, led to bras and undies all around. Morgan and I first, then Sarah, then Chase, as clinging wet shirts and pants came off. And finally we broke Shaina and Mark's modest resistance with fitful splashing until all six of us were in the pool. In our underwear.
As we weren't in a state of underwear until after a few minutes in the pool (Mark, for instance, spared us a potential damaging experience by wearing jeans over his buttonless boxers), wet clothes went in the dryer once we were back in the house. We all sat on Morgan's patio balcony in bras, undies, and towels while the neighbors mowed the lawn. We talked and joked and argued and bonded as good friends can only do when sitting outside, getting sunburned in their underwear.
Perhaps it was the nice weather, Morgan's mountain-top 1920s villa, the first day of summer, or the company of good friends. Or perhaps the lack of clothing and modesty. Whichever the case, we shared a handful of beautifully memorable rooftop conversations.
It was, in short, an excellent start to the summer.
And a good piece of advice (that fortunately all of us followed today): Never wear your granny panties on a hot day in Birmingham when there's even an inkling of a chance that you might find yourself near a swimming pool. And never carry a bathing suit on your person or in your car.
There is nothing quite like feeling like an utterly hopeless and silly highschool student.
I hope all of you have found an equally blissful beginning.
[You might recall our pool party or two years ago -- these are views from the patio balcony]
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i was really suprised at how much i didn't care about being half-naked. i'm pretty self-concious of my flab when i'm alone.
27 May 2004, 8:41 PM.