this friday is my tonsillectomy.  

i am terrified.  not of surgery.  of pain.  

plus it is scheduled at 6:45am in the morning.

clearly,  they are trying to make this the worst experience of my life.

Thursday: Migraine. Exceptionally sore throat.  Stayed home from work.

Friday:  Razor blades in throat. Went to doctor.  Strep-throat.  Antibiotics galore.  Stayed home from work.

Saturday:  Throat feeling better. Antibiotics galore.  Stayed in bed all day.

Sunday:  Throat healed.  Strep-throat banished.  Yeast infection.  Fucking antibiotics. Probiotics administered.

Monday: Pink-eye.  Antibiotics eye-drops galore.  Stayed home from work.

Tuesday: Pink-eye.  Looking better than Monday.  Stayed home from work.  Went for a run.  Hurt hip.

Wednesday:  Pink-eye banished.  Sore hip remains.  Returned to work.  Hate work.

Since I sprained my ankle I haven't been able to do a lot of the "exercises" that I would normally do.  I've started physio-therapy but said ankle is by no means ready for action.  This means that my spring running routine is out the window, as is the yoga, which I so love.  I can hardly balance enough of my foot to put on my pants in the morning, let alone do a sun salutation.  This left me with no other options, I would have to don my swimsuit outside of bathing suit season.  Horror of all horrors.  These are the things that my nightmares are made of.  I have a very sleek navy blue one-piece that is practical for a public pool, but is also very ugly. However, it means that my far-from-summer-readied midriff does not need to be exposed.  

Actual swimming of laps has been a bit of a problem as is creates too much resistance for my wee little delicate ankle.  This has left me with treading water.  I have become an expert, I think.  I can tread water for 45 minutes straight.  I sometimes imagine that I have been shipwrecked and that this is my only option for staying alive.  When my 45 minute regimen is over, I sometimes imagine an imminent shark attack and see how fast I can get out of the pool.  I have a very vivid imagination, so panic always ensues and I'm sure the lifeguards are wondering what all the flailing is about at the end.  Or, sometimes I pretend I'm a senior citizen living in Palm Springs, doing water aerobics in my imaginary gold and silver shimmery bathing suit, grooving out to the musak that is often played over the intercom.  I try and mix-it up a bit to make the time pass.  

I have come to look forward to my time at the pool.  I mind my own business, tread my water and then reward myself with the steam room and sauna at the end.  So, it is with great despair that I recount this incident.

I came out of the women's change room and walked over to the bench that is directly outside of the men's changing room to leave my towel and flip-flops.  It's the only place where you can leave your stuff and still keep and eye on it.  As I drop my towel I notice this man that is leaning against the wall.  He is about 45 years old, pale and skinny with longish thin hair that is clearly in it's last stages before baldness.   He is also wearing giant 1980's style glasses, but what is even more giant is the errection that he is sporting under his teeny tiny speedo.  He didn't see me, at least eye contact was not made, (thank god), so I made a bee-line for the deep end.  

So there I am, in the deep end, minding my own business, treading water when up pops a head, like a seal surfacing for air.  Yup, it's speedo-errection guy.  He says, "Brrrr, this water is cold, do you find it to be cold?” To which I mumble something along the lines of not noticing it.  He begins to mock shiver and then tells me that he thinks that I'm a good floater.  In my mind, I am cursing my upper thighs for making me a "good floater", but I choose not to answer and make a weak smile/grimace.  He then asks me if I come there often, and tells me he's sure he's seen my around.  Great.  My dream come true.  Not only am I nearing 35, but I am at the public pool alone on a Friday night, getting hit on by speedo-errection guy.  Life does not get any better.  My mind is screaming  – Abort, Abort.  Must-Get-Away.  Shark-attack like panic is setting in.  I tell him that I have a sprained ankle and am doing my physio regimen so I can't talk.  This doesn't stop him.  He shows great concern for my sprained ankle, and asks how it happened and how much it hurts.  He starts to tell me about how he sprained his ankle once.   He reaches down for his foot and  s about to stretch and hold up his leg up from under water to show me his ankle when I realize that this is too far gone and that I have got to leave before anything pops out of that speedo.