I spent the afternoon at the Missus (and, yes, I ate the hell out of some guacamole and drank beers and made them all listen to the new North Mississippi All-Stars album) and her dude’s house where there is a pool and since it was hotter than balls outside, even though I didn’t have my swimsuit, I got in.
And, in spite of the fact that SuperMousey and her friend know exactly what to say to make you want to about die (on my birthday, it was “So, don’t you like kids? Why aren’t you going to have kids? Do you think you can just have kids whenever? You’re getting kind of old” and today it was “We can see your bra through your t-shirt and it totally makes your boobs look like ground beef.”), I had a fine time.
Like I said, I’m not good for much, but I’m good for floating around a pool. In fact, if you were to look at how I’m set up, you’ve almost got to wonder if I wasn’t designed that way on purpose. I am literally exactly right in the fat department in such a way that I can just sit in the water–butt below me, feet stretched out ahead of me–and float around.
I’m starting to think that my ancestors took to the seas in longships at first not for raiding but to rescue their big-bottomed wives who had taken to the water to escape the summer heat and accidently floated off towards the horizon.