We invited ourselves out to our friend Jonathan's pool on Saturday.
He was spending the day doing yard work, and asked if we could pick up a friend of his on our way.
So we brought the friend. And our laundry. Because our dryer situation, it is not yet resolved. Not because of disagreement. But rather because everyfuckingthing this year is at least five goddamn times harder than it has to be.
Jonathan, he is family. I have known him since I was born. He's the one who organized the bagpiper for my dad's memorial.
Come to think of it, he's the one who took the mandals picture.
He's also the best host you can imagine.
So we called and said, "Hi, can we come swim in your pool? And can we bring our sheets and towels and do laundry? Oh, and since we have no idea where in god's name we've packed them, can we use your beach towels? And will you hang out with us while we're there?"
And he was all, absolutely! And I'll give you beverages and snacks and suntan lotion!
It was spec-tac-ular.
The pool is in the sun, with these lovely slate tiles around it. And on the side is a hot tub is raised above it, made of the same slate. It cascades water into the pool. Gorgeous.
It was the first time in months that I have felt great. Not just OK, but great. Lithe and agile and just fantastic.
We swam, we paddled, we floated, we lounged in the sun.
And then we got in the hot tub. We turned on the jets but no heat, so as not to cook the kid. Being shallow and in the sun, it was slightly warm. Much like being in a kiddie pool you know nobody has peed in.
Nick and I floated, and they sat on the side, feet in, drinking beer and chatting.
So somewhere along the way we started talking about water and boats and pool maintenance and hot tubs.
Nick said he'd had a hot tub at his place in Alabama.
And even though I like to think I'm not a jealous person, I don't really want to dwell on his dating shenanigans. Plus I envision his life in Alabama to be kind of cheesy, and so of course, all the women are too.
This is grounded in absolutely nothing. It's just because I am bitchy like that.
So I was internally rolling my eyes all, of course you did.
And then he told us his hot tub dating strategy.
He'd invite women over for a third or fourth date, and he'd tell them he was making fajitas. And this stream of women, they would always show up with Coronas or Dos Equis to go with fajitas.
And they'd have a couple beers - Mexican! so exotic! - and he'd take them on a house tour, and then they'd be all "Ooh! A hot tub!"
In my vague recollection, after some liquor a hot tub always seems like a better idea than it actually is. So I could totally see this.
He'd feign surprise at their enthusiasm, and suggest they get in. But the only thing was, he'd say, unfortunately, you simply couldn't wear clothing in the hot tub. Because it would clog the filter.
Nick was clearly delighted with himself. He was all, "It always worked!"
At the same time I was all, "It's a lie? I thought it was about the fibers and detergent?! And delicate filtration system??"
"Oh, Lis. Sweetie."