The whole crabbyfamily hoofed it on over to the "new club" today for the first time together, and I must say the excursion went swimmingly. Miss O and the Old Lady spent most of the time in the indoor pool, where the water temp is kept at a brisk 80 degrees. Nothing gets the blood moving like a pool of tepid human consommé.
Mr. Z and I braved the outdoor pool which, acccording to the membership woman, is also set to 80 degrees. Judging by the speed at which my balzac shot up from my nether region to my neck, however, I'd guess the temp was closer to, oh, five? We had the pool to ourselves, though, so we didn't feel embarrassed by our scrotum's apples.
After sufficiently splishing and a-asplashing, the spawnage and I spent some time in the whirlpool. Wait, do you call it a whirlpool or a hot tub? Or a spa? I'm not used to all these fancy health club gizmos, so maybe I'll just call it the bubble-tub. Anywhich, we were steeping there in our crabbystew when this older couple came in and plunked their wrinkly asses down. I tried my best to distract the spawnage so they wouldn't stare, and it worked pretty well until Mr. Z, while gesticulating wildly as he related some Pokemon-themed tale, splashed the scalding bubble-tub water into the woman's face.
And so ended our bubble-tub tenure.
Then it was just a matter of getting the boy in and out of the locker room without him spotting an unattired schvantz, which would surely send him into fits of cockularity. Luckily, there was only one lone gent whose junk was sufficiently cloistered, so we made it out of there with our memberships intact.
The crazy thing is, when I belonged to the Y, I never saw anyone I knew from town. It was like all the members were flown in from out of state or something. At the new place, though, every other person I see there is someone I see on a regular basis. There's tons of neighbors, kids/parents from the spawnages' school, INCLUDING the asshole bully from Mr. Z's class last year, by the way. Yeah, apparently, when the Old Lady took Mr. Z swimming last weekend, they saw "Sluggo" from Mr. Z's class in the pool. The greatest thing is that Mr. Z saw him, paused, and then sneered, in perfect Seinfeldian, "Hello... Sluggo." The Old Lady said it was hilarious.
The strangest encounter, though, happened as we were leaving today. In the parking lot we ran into the spawnages' doctor. But it was their doctor in his casual-going-to-take-a-dip-at-the-club attire, instead of his doctorin' getup. He had a t-shirt and some big ol' shorts and some wacky Croc-like slipperettes on. Fucking bizarre. It's amazing the dorkiness a little lab coat can cover up.
Wonder where I can get me a lab coat?