At this moment, I am probably either sitting on a bench watching my daughter participate in some horrific, stomach-turning amusement park ride, or huddled under an umbrella table watching half-naked flesh slither down a giant slide while probably picking up 425 varieties of bacteria.
OK, it's not that bad. I'm actually having a good time. But I find water parks a bit odd.
Water parks are family affairs mostly, from what I gather. The tip-off is there are lots of tiny, loud, speedy people all over the place. And there are tired and haggard parents, a disturbing amount of whom have all manners of tattoos (if I ever want to experience how out of-the-loop I am with society, I count how many people at the water park feature tattoos on their feet).
There are many, many, many people drastically out of shape, who I would think would avoid places like this. But they sure don't seem to mind. There are also a lot of people who simply look like regular folks in bathing suits (*ahem* like me).
And then, every once in awhile, you see someone who looks like ...
... this.
Often in suits like this. Or in something much less.
Some women I know like to pretend that women who look like this don't exist. That it's airbrushing or camera angles or make-up.
I'm sorry. There are women who look like that. And they're at water parks. A lot. (They're are probably good-looking men, too. I wouldn't know).
Suddenly, when I see someone like this, the water park isn't so bad. Suddenly, I don't think about crowds, or tattoos, or bacteria, or "when is that stupid kid going to stop screaming." When you get right down to it -- because I don't care for most rides at all -- it's the lone perk of a water park.
But being the grown-up, responsible, happily married man that I am, I know that it is impolite to stare. And I whisk away the impure thought as soon as she leaves my field of vision.
Because I know ...
...
... there will always be another one.
It's a water park, for crying out loud.
God bless the USA.
Have a happy 4th.
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