I absolutely love the pool, and during the summer months, I treat going to the pool like it’s my job…well, I guess I treat it better than a job because I don’t call in sick to it nor would I ever dream of taking a vacation day away from it.
We aren’t members of a nice pool, so we have to hit up the public pool, which is comprised of the local freakshows who are just one step above running through the garden hose in the front yard in cut off shorts and a tube top.
Recently my husband and I went to the pool to get some relaxation and see how many sno cones we could eat in one sitting before getting a brain freeze. We arrived around noon and secured our favorite lounge chairs near the diving board.
We love those chairs because we watch people jump off the diving board and critique them like Olympic judges, only we prefer to see belly flops, cannon balls, and the coup de gras…a face plant.
After a few minutes we were sweating more than Sarah Palin during a history test, so we decided to get in the water. We walked over to the shallow end and jumped in for some refreshment.
As we stood there contemplating what percentage of the pool was made up of pure urine, a man came over and sat on the edge of the pool near us.
He was about 45 years old, overweight, awkward, and most definitely on a pedophile list somewhere. As we were getting up the nerve to ask him if his parole officer knew he was at the pool, we heard the most deafening and horrific sound ever….a fart!
And not just any fart. A long and loud fart, with pitch and tone. This fart wasn’t tone deaf at all, although it was just as loud and obnoxious as Jennifer Hudson on the Weight Watchers commercials. (We get it. You lost weight. Shut up already).
Before we could laugh or give the pedophile a chance to blame it on his floral swimming trunks or the ledge of the pool, he stunned us further.
He turned to us and said “Well, that was a rather loud toot, don’t ya think?”
And who calls it a “toot” anyway? That makes it sound like it was just a little sound from a choo choo train instead of a large foghorn sound from a freight train.
Was he trying to diminish the fact that his bodily function stopped our conversation dead in its tracks?
We didn’t get to address this with him further because he swam away just as quickly as he arrived…probably using his farts to propel him faster down the lap lane.
It actually ended up being a pretty fun day, and we have the farting bandit to thank for that.
We would love to thank him in person, if only we knew which halfway house he was assigned to.