Spee-D'oh!

Well, the new bathing suit was delivered today (the "Spiffy") -- unfortunately for the members of the YMCA, it showed up a coupla days late. The other night, I realized that my old suit hadn't been washed in a while and was starting to smell a tad ballsacky, so I rummaged around for one of my other suits. I found this red pair of board shorts that I forgot I had, and thought I'd go with those. Problem was, they were a little loose around the waist and I worried that they might whisk off suddenly in the churning, brackish waters of the pool.

I asked the Old Lady what she thought and she said, "Don't worry about it. It's not like you're going to be diving in or splashing around or anything. They'll be fine." And, of course, if you're familiar with the Old Lady's uncanny jinxing ability, you'd realize that I should have incinerated those board shorts right then and there. For some bizarre reason, however, I trusted her.

Cut to the Y -- I enter the swimming area and, wouldn't you know it, it's all women in there. Every lane but one is taken -- the center lane. I put my towel down, pull my goggles on and slip into the water. Instantly, the suit balloons out like a grade school, gym class parachute, soaks up a couple gallons of water, and then starts feeling really heavy. I figured, "C'mon... there's a drawstring. They're not going to fall off."

So, I started my first lap. Before I take my first breath, the top of the suit slips down to about plumber level and, with each additional stroke, threatens to slip down even further... like to Chris Farley level. I managed to finish the first length, but had to pause at the opposite end of the pool to figure out some sort of suit-bondo that would at least allow me to get back to the other side without flashing a "full crabby."

I rolled the waistband over a couple of times and it seemed to tighten things up a bit. Just to play it safe, I did the breast stroke on the way back. I went really slowly to keep the friction to a minimum, but about halfway across I could feel the waistband unrolling and my junk unpouching. I stopped at that point and just walked back to the wall, dragging my deflated circus tent along with me.

It was at this point that I noticed the young, freshly scrubbed life guardess looking down at me from her lofty perch. She basically had a bird's eye view of the whole fi-ass-co, and, frankly, she didn't seem pleased. I decided to do everyone a favor and just call it a day. Another couple of laps and the cops would've been called and, to tell you the truth, skinny-dipping in that water, whether intentional or not, is a good way to catch a bad case of "the drip."

So, tomorrow I try out "The Spiffy." I tried it on today -- modeled it for the Old Lady. It basically makes the area from my waist down to my knees look like some sort of Lycra blood sausage. It's really quite revolting. But I think I'd definitely rather be known around the Y as "Squeezie VonPorkcasing" than "Harry McCrackandsack." I just hope I make it out of there tomorrow without getting slapped.