have you forgotten something?

I went for a jacuzzi after my swim today. This was quite brave as at that point there were seven men in the tub and no women. Not that I feared I was at physical risk. No, I was simply embarrassed. Even the best of swimming costumes - and mine is a bog standard endurance speedo (by endurance I mean the fabric is guaranteed not to be corroded by pool chemicals after five minutes
of swimming) is an unforgiving item of clothing.

So there I was, with the water jets spouting over my body, dreaming of alabaster-smooth thighs and other parts, knowing full well that if it were that simple, many women would be much happier. Then I glanced at one of the male occupants - well, it's hard not to look at anyone - and thought: he's not wearing any swimming shorts. Not that this did anything for me, rather I started imagining all the explanations: his shorts were flesh-coloured, I peered harder - still no sign; somehow they'd fallen off, but surely then he'd find them and make more effort to keep them on; they'd disintegrated. There was scope for a piece of flash fiction if I'd felt more creative at the time. Anyway, minutes later, the bubbles stopped, the water became calm, and a pair of pale orange swimming shorts were to be seen covering his nether regions.

Having so boldly stepped into the jacuzzi, my courage to exit it deserted me. For a fanciful moment it occurred to me I could stay there until I'd lost 50 stone and was happy to parade my body. But the water wasn't that warm today, no sense of lying in a cosy bath or returning to the womb. And the lifeguard has a habit of asking people to leave when it's closing time. So I stepped out, in as dignified a way as I could muster, reassuring myself that men tend not to pay attention to older women - despite our subtle allure factor - and there were unlikely to be seven pairs of eyes on me as I left the pool area.

Realistically yours,


Jane