Renovations are happening here at Chez Bang Bang, Reader, and it’s a good time. Back when I originally became a stay-at-home unwife, I had Big Plans for the summer. It included lazy days spent lounging poolside, reading trashy novels and working on my
sunburn turning to more freckles tan.
The big glitch with that plan was that I didn’t have a pool.
I say “didn’t,” Reader. Because one day while I was meandering through the store I saw this little inflatable beauty.
Don’t they look so happy??! The answer is yes, they do look happy, because they’re in a POOL and pools make people happy. For the most part, except when accidental drownings happen. Then, not as happy.
But here? Happy. The dad is all lounge-y and relaxed with probably a beer in the cupholder on the side. Yep, that’s right. This little number has built-in cupholders because it’s fancy. The kids are hanging out and ready to splash some water around. The mom is probably inside making Kool-Aid because the mom always has shit to do, she can never just sit in the pool and relax. Or maybe they’re divorced and he’s a single dad and this is his weekend with the kids. I could go on with scenarios, but the bottom line is they all look like they’re having a good time sitting in some water and gol’darn it, that fun was gonna be mine.
Oh, p.s., notice all the holes in the top corner of the box? Yeah, those would be cat bites, because they are intent on ruining all of mama’s happiness.
So in my shopping cart it went, despite the $29.99 price tag on my unemployed wage. I figured the hours of enjoyment would pay for itself.
Much to my delight, when I got home I discovered the cashier didn’t charge me correctly and I ended up getting it for $15, plus the $2.88 for the Bellows Foot Pump I purchased to blow this baby up. Because while I am normally full of a lot of hot air, it was a for sure thing that I would pass out if I gave this pool mouth-to-mouth to breath life into ‘er.
So a summer of fun for $17.88. Plus tax.
Only it seemed like the entire month of June rained. Rained right on my pool parade. When it wasn’t raining, I was getting ready for or having that damn garage sale.
June passed, and I could feel my dreams of the Summer of George lounging poolside slipping by.
And then I got a job offer, and went to Vegas over the 4th of July, and now I was looking at only having the precious weekends once again to enjoy floating in my pool, if I ever got it installed.
The Summer of Poolside George was looking grim.
Until today, when my original plan was to finish cleaning up the garage from that fucking garage sale, wherein I’m a little ashamed to admit that I still have a couple of tables of shit that needs de-shitted. But instead of cleaning the garage I said to my brain, “Fuck that cleaning the garage nonsense, I’ve gotta make hay while the sun shines.” And my making the hay involved pulling the pool out of the box and getting ready for some sweet sweet lounging.
I wanted to put it up on the deck, so that I could be close to the bathroom if needed and somewhat ensconced in privacy in the event I wanted to skinny dip. Or chunky dunk, as the case may be.
My Mister dubiously looked at the foot pump but was nicely surprised when he hooked it up and it actually did it’s job better than the $2.88 price tag would lead you to believe.
There he is in his summer uniform – heavy denim blue jeans and a black t-shirt.
And then he sweat-ed and bitched about how hot he was out there. Ya think? It would be hot?
Luckily he was soon to have a pool he could cool right off in. That is, if it didn’t crash through the deck, which was somewhat of a worry, with all that water in my very big pool.
Now, normally a story like this would have some sort of a horrible-warning ending coming from me, but not this time.
Nope. It was nothing but pure fun and games, except for the part where my legs were even more stiff by the time I got out because super-duper cold water, but other than that? Exceeded expectations.
The cats lived up to the curiosity part of their nature and came out to investigate.
So yeah. This is where you’ll find me during hot summer nights and weekends, with a cold drink in my cupholder.
Until I get an infection up my crotch from sitting in a pool of stagnant water.
Or a good dose of Legionnairres’ disease.
I guess I’d better visit Litehouse Pools and figure out how to keep my inflatable pool water fresh. Cause I’ve got enough other things to worry about, which oh, by the way, includes what I believe is a little dose of cancer, so no Legionnairres’ for me, thanks but no thanks.
Yeah, you read that right. I slipped it right in there,all quiet like, because we don’t want to talk too loudly about it. But thanks to Almighty Google and Web MD, I’m about 83.4% certain I’ve got a touch of the cancer. The problem is, I can’t get in to see a doctor because I had to find a new doctor because my original primary care physician is inadequate for anything important, and now I have new insurance so I need to get in with someone accepting new patients. But then I started my job and that infringed on my searching-for-a-doctor time last week, but I took care of it yesterday and will be calling to make an appointment bright and early Monday.
Not to be concerned, Reader, I’m fairly certain it’s just a teensy touch of skin cancer, the non-spready kind from what I’ve diagnosed myself with from pictures on the Internet. Because that’s how medicine’s practiced nowadays. Duh.
This spot just cropped up a couple of weeks ago, right there on my chest. When I first noticed it in the mirror I thought to myself, “What the fuck is that??” But then figured it would go away. Several days later my friendie saw it and immediately said, “What the fuck is that on your chest?”
And that’s when I knew I had a little problem that needs solved. Thanks for nothing, Fair, Freckly Skin which burns like a motherfucker at the kiss of a sunbeam.
So yeah. I’ll be SPF-ing the fuck out of my spot while I’m lazing about in my Legionnairre’s water.
Come over. We can get diseases together, it’ll make it more fun that way. I’m not sure who’s going to be having more fun, but didn’t someone say misery loves company, so why wouldn’t diseases love company, too? Don’t leave Diseases out, Misery. It’s rude.
And oh, by the way, I’m taking applications for a lifeguard.
And a cabana boy.
Please submit shirtless photos to be considered for the position.
And polish up on your “feeding me grapes” routine.