Huh! What I thought I heard was, “Mish, are you interesting in going into the pool?” So here I am, bikini at the ready, beach towel draped over my shoulder, gym bag in hand, my “mellow” playlist on the iPhone spewing out random sequences of old-school Maroon 5, James Taylor, assorted acoustic Beatles and laid-back 70’s Elton John and Eagles.
I parked my car in the shade, near the rear of the lot, and I just keep walking, walking---where the hell is the FCF Newbie Pool? I thought it was kind of nice that they put in a pool just for the newer members---but jeez! Did it have to be so far out?
In the distance, I see a building on the horizon. Finally! The rhythmic clip-clop of my sandals lulls me into an almost hypnotic gait as I trudge toward what looks to be an indoor pool. I guess that’s OK, but I was also hoping to work on the tan a little, too. Oh well---it’s a free FCF amenity---who am I to complain?
Arriving a bit parched, I quench my thirst at the water cooler in the vestry, and enter the main building. I scan the FCF Directory---I don’t see it! Where the hell is the pool? The large building is fairly empty, although I see some scantily-clad girls milling about in small pockets. I approach the closest group, relieved to see some familiar faces! “Hey girls, “I trumpet, “Um, where is the pool?”
A gaggle of raised eyebrows responds in unison, and Nikki gives me a mild slap in the face. “Fucktard,“ she says, and points to the poster on the bulletin board, and I begin to read…..
“Oh,“ I say sheepishly, “it’s a poll…” As I look over at the schedule, I see my name, in Block D, set to meet up with PetiteSela, whom I don’t know. “Petite?” I muse…”Cool! I’d love a bit of an advantage!” I do some googling, and pull up her stats… “Um, she’s taller than me! So much for petite!” But as I continue reading, the words “85 pounds” and “Once your [sic] down I won’t show mercy...” strike a chord with me, and a smile slowly spreads across my face. This, I think, is going to be a blast!
A bit of a spring in my step as I bounce down the hall to the designated room to meet my opponent. Stopping outside the mid-sized matted room, I kick off my white low-top Chucks and toss them and my towel into my gym bag. I eye myself in the mounted mirror in the hall---my 5’2” tight, toned, 20 year-old body looks not too bad today, rockin’ this itty-bitty bikini, my chestnut brown hair falling freely over my shoulders to around mid-back level. For a split second, I feel colossally fat as I compare my 105 lbs to Sela’s 85. I suck in my flat tummy as much as I can, and then after holding my breath for about 30 seconds, let it out, distending my concave abs back into flatness. Screw it, I think. I am who I am….secretly regretting the half-jar of Nutella I scarfed down this morning for breakfast. My 32C’s look pretty good nestled in the new ‘kini, and I open the door, surprised to see Sela already in there, stretching out wearing black hot pants, black sportsbra and black laced up kneehigh boots. I give a polite smile, head to the opposite side of the room, and start to stretch, eying my cute, slightly taller opponent, more than a little excited to show her exactly how MishRocks…