She and her husband were on vacation from Scotland. A delightful middle-aged couple with travelogue Scottish accents that were as thick as creamed potatoes. They were staying in the same Holiday Inn as were we, visiting with their son who had driven up from Naples, Florida. I met them secondarily after Judi had initially taken it upon herself to be a good Samaritan, walked down to where the couple was lounging by the pool, and suggest that it might be a good idea if they both find shelter from the sun.
We relinquished out spots under the umbrella so that they might have some much needed shade. "It gets a wee bit warmish here, don't it laddie?" was her introductory comment as she gingerly eased herself into the lounge chair. To say that she and her husband were overly cooked doesn't quite convey the vision that both presented. I've got a Christmas tie that is less red than were these two...especially the poor woman who, I suspected, would emit a soft glow once the sun went down. Judi and I pitied them both, knowing that the night ahead was going to be anything but restful for them. There is little else more agonizing than desperately trying to fall asleep when the cotton sheets rubbing against your skin feels like sandpaper.
This couple was typical of the folks we "people-watched" as Judi and I leisurely enjoyed our three day get-away-from-it-all mini vacation a couple of weekends ago. The parade of humanity we attentively witnessed populating the pool area during those three days was a potpourri of shapes and sizes and ethnic varieties that would make the General Assembly of the United Nations proud...many of which apparently did not own a full length mirror that would have instantly cast aspersions on any considered thoughts of their venturing out into public wearing a bathing suit. I realize that horizontally-challenged people (Read: "ample") have just as much right to enjoy a relaxing time at the pool as anyone else, but the vision they purposefully present to the casual observer is anything but stimulating. If there was one there was a half dozen overly-large women who had match sticks for ankles that were laboring to hold erect a body that resembled a dirigible in need of a docking station. Stuffing all of that glorious flesh into a one-piece suit in and of itself was an engineering feat, but to go throw all caution to the wind and do so wearing a two-piece ensemble brought tears of hilarity to our eyes. Never has there been so much asked of so little to covered so much.
Of course there were specimens a plenty of women all ages present that weekend for whom the French designers of the bikini had in mind when they opted to revolutionize the female swimwear fashion industry. If much is best to be left to the imagination, some of these women didn't get the memo. Several bikini-clad women sported tattoos that covered more than did their suits, and the word "cleavage" had ample opportunity to bountifully and unabashedly express itself. One 30ish extroverted female from Detroit began drinking alcoholic libations as soon as the pool bar opened at 9 a.m., and by 1 p.m. she was a total wreck. Her boyfriend was finally summoned from inside the bar to retrieve his lady-fair before she was destined to slip, drink in hand, beneath the water's surface.
That one-woman show was soon replaced by another female who, it was decided by Judi and me an another couple sitting close to us who were just as intent on watching the proceedings as were we, was of a foreign heritage, most likely German, based on her dialect. It is a generally accepted assumption that Europeans - especially the French - have much more of a laisse-faire attitude when it comes to appreciating one's body image. This young lady was the poster child for that mindset. She sauntered along the side of the pool in a two-piece thingy that would make a nudist take a second, if not a third look. I turned to my fellow male observer and casually stated, "I'm willing to take a wager on how long it takes before she attracts a pod of male shark admirers." "That's a fool's bet, my friend." And indeed it was. Almost instantaneously the water around her had been whipped into a white froth by a small gaggle of men who were trolling for more than just casual conversation. To chum the waters of testosterone even further, she seductively removed her suit bottoms. Needless to say, all eyes were glued to this turn of events. No, she didn't bear all, but damn well close to it. Think back, if you will, to when cowboy shows in the 50s were an afternoon TV viewing staple. Remember the thin little string ties they wore to keep their ten gallon hats from flying off? There's a cowboy even now looking for his tie, and boy would he be surprised to learn where it ended up.
My poolside friend asked, "Well, what do you think of that?" I replied, "When you get to be my age and see something like that, the best I can hope for is to run to the very end of my chain and bark!"
I admit it. I enjoy being a people watcher...especially in an environment where every day practiced decorum is given a holiday. It beats otherwise sitting around and watching the paint peal off the barn door. Excuse me while I roll up my chain and return to my doghouse in watchful anticipation for my next encounter with the uninhibited.
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