Swimming Upstream

I recently started swimming again — and by that, I mean I went to the large indoor pool, twice, a few weeks ago.  But it’s a start, considering that I haven’t seen the inside of a regulation sized pool in 15 years.  There are some very nice public pools here, and like a lot of things here, are very modern but housed in these beautiful old turn-of-the-last-century buildings with columns and wide lawns and everything. 

Since I am a housewife, I go in the afternoons, where it’s just me and the retirees.  And here I witness something which continues to confuse and amaze me.  I’m always surprised at how the generally very orderly Germans cannot que up to save their lives, which translates into a bunch of older ladies darting all over the pool, while I try to bob and weave.   The indoor pool has no lanes dividers, and it’s every man for himself in there.  

Now, I like a flowered bathing cap as much as the next gal, but to seem them coming at you sitting on top of a face full of make-up and announced by a pair of torpedo boobs is disconcerting.  It’s impossible to get out of the way, since there is no “way” — just a bunch of ladies fighting for water space, and I’m in now way ready to win that fight club.  First, I’ll need that flowered bathing cap.