Apparently it’s weird to get your first wetsuit for your
forty-ninth birthday. But it’s weird good, right? Not weird as in
whatever-you-do- don’t-look-her-in-the-eye kind of weird. I blame my brother.
And my mum. Everything always come down to being the mother’s fault.
Despite
being three years older than me, BigBro has been three inches shorter than me
since I was about ten. He has olive skin, dark brown hair and a muscular shape.
I burn easily, have fair hair, and muscular is definitely not an adjective anyone would ever choose to describe me. And we
are as different in nature as we are in appearance. Where I am fussy, he is
easy-going. Where I am willing to
accommodate the needs and quirks of others (read ‘collect lame ducks and
assorted hangers-on’), he loses patience and ruthlessly kills people off from
his life. I am cautious where he
is devil-may-care. I love entertaining and going to the theatre; he would
rather be out surfing, sailing, snow skiing or motorbike riding.
Unlike
me, BigBro was a severely premature and ill baby. He was often sick with croup
and evil coughing nasties. So, in order to develop his physical strength and
lung capacity, Mum had him learn to swim at an early age. Although a healthy large full-term
infant, I suffered from an ugly skin infection on my feet that prevented going
barefoot in summer and made going to the beach uncomfortable. My mother made me
wear socks to swimming lessons. Hideous. Humiliating. White socks. With frills
on them.
So it was
that BigBro and I unconsciously split the roles between us: I am the academic
one, he is the sporty one. BigBro thrives in water: I can barely swim.
Well, as
I’ve said, there are some pretty sweet beaches here on The Rock. On countless glorious days I waded out thigh
deep into the rolling surf to watch and worry as young Boychild and Girlchild whooped and shrieked in the white
water, challenging each other to ride all the way to the sand on their
Mickey-Mouse body boards, crashing and bumping and giggling all the while.
Yes, it was
always me who fretted and waved, beckoning them closer to the shore, shooing
them away from serious board riders, dragging them back out to an acceptable
depth and reissuing the safety warnings that followed the safety warnings I’d
just issued. Dr Dad was always way too busy whooping and shrieking and crashing
and bumping to notice what the kids were doing.
Until one
day, I could resist no more. Exhibiting all the key symptoms of if-you- can’t-
beat-'em-join-'em-itis, I grabbed a hold of one of those floating Mickey
boogie things and lunged out to where the water was waist deep. I know. Crazy
daredevil stuff. It was bloody freezing. It was also the most I'd laughed since
that time Father Christmas actually reclaimed my brother’s scooter because he’d
left it out in the rain. Gold.
So, the kids gave me a wetsuit for my 49th birthday.
And yes, it really does stay
warm after I pee in it.
Oh!
ReplyDeletescary, huh!
ReplyDeleteExcellent! And is that really true about the peeing thing? I will have to try that!
ReplyDelete