I’m terribly sorry about the hiatus, it’s been a crazy couple of days. I hope you have all survived my absence and to reward you I’m bringing out a hate that’s probably pretty close to my personal kryptonite. Remember when I said that I hate equally? Well, I lied. No I’m not above lying, sorry to disappoint you all.
I HATE WATER. No, not drinking water, water water. I am absolutely terrified of water. I don’t even take baths because it requires me to sit in water and at least in the shower I have a 99% chance of not drowning. I am convinced that my water terror is ultimately going to lead to my demise in a watery grave. Ironic? Exactly, as if I would go out any other way. There is nothing else in this world that makes me cry and tremble like a little girl than water. The last time Aaron and I went to Myrtle Beach he thought it would be funny to carry me out in the ocean, I lost the ability to talk or communicate in any meaningful way, unless sobbing counts as meaningful communication.
I blame my mom for this, because she’s terrified of water herself. I always thought it was silly and then she put me in swim lessons. Suddenly I understood. I swear I thought I was in swim lessons for 3 years but in reality my mom says it was only like 6 months. Apparently I failed the beginners swim class twice and I think they asked my mom to stop bringing me. Every week they would make us jump off of the diving board and every week I would stand at the end of the diving board and sob. Eventually I would jump but only after performing a very dramatic production that I like to call, “Nikki is about to wet herself, or get snot in the pool.�? I’m positive all the other moms pointed at me and whispered, “That poor girl in the Snoopy bathing suit is going to be in therapy for years after this.�? My dad came to watch me at swim lessons once and this was the only time I jumped off the diving board without all the useless, teary procrastination. My mom told me, “you’d better not pull that crying stuff this time, dad doesn’t want to see it.�? She wasn’t kidding either, my dad’s universal response to a crying child is, “Dry it up kid!�? Empathy isn’t his strong point. This is what I remember from swim lessons (besides the crying): It was at the YMCA in Blue Ash, the pool was ridiculously large and they made us canoe in the pool sometimes. Um hello, I’m 4. I have no desire to paddle this oversized pop can around with 9 other 4 year olds. We don’t even know which end of the stick goes in the water! And the fact that I’m required to wear a life vest in the swimming pool is causing me great distress. I also have a very vivid memory of some boy throwing up what looked like pink popcorn all over the side of the pool and he got to go home. I spent the next 3 months thinking, “If I could just throw up…�?
If I had to choose between a swimming pool and the ocean, I would choose the pool. Not because I’m afraid of the waves (well, I am, but that’s not the reason) but because nothing larger than an amoeba lives in the pool, and I’m down with that. I am NOT down with invading aquatic ecosystems. I would not be pleased to find a sea bass lounging on my couch, so why on earth would I want to go tromping through a jelly fish’s home? No wonder they sting people. Fish, shark, octopus, whatever the sea creature, I’m pretty sure they don’t appreciate me invading their oceanic paradise. I remember being in Florida when I was 12 and I caught a fish in my hand and then I realized there were creatures of the sea all around me and I had to peace out of the water.
One last story to truly solidify my ridiculousness, Aaron’s parents were kind enough to take us on a cruise to Alaska. We did all sorts of excursions and one included a canoeing trip. So we arrive at this lake that looked more like the Pacific in my eyes (I don’t think it was even half a mile wide..) and I’m wearing a child’s life vest and it’s raining and I’m supposed to traverse this slippery dock and climb into this slippery, rocking boat without falling. So I get in the boat and sit on the wet board they called a seat and THEN they expected me to paddle?! Heck to the NO! So there I was, 23 years old, sitting in a boat in the middle of Alaska, in the rain, shaking, holding a paddle in my lap and crying. I tried to be brave and help paddle on the way back but the lady behind me had no rhythm (who let a Canuck on the boat?!) and after about the third time that she smacked into my paddle I gave up and went back to praying, humming hymns and fending off the grim reaper.
And all of this aquatic trauma has set me up for a lifetime of floatie dependence and a hate for the YMCA.
Filed under: Hate on February 10th, 2007
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