My Summer Shame
Hey,
It’s not often that I feel embarrassed. When your reproductive habits have become lunch conversation points, your embarrassment threshold goes up. How shy can you be in a world where your sperm is talked about like an Amazon Prime Day deal? I’ve literally had someone tell me I could sell it as concentrate. Amazon might sell my book, but that’s probably one too far.
So, I was surprised when I experienced that awful red in the face feeling over the summer. Naturally, the obvious thing to do is write it all down for your reading pleasure. That seems like a good choice.
The pool cover we’d been using was at the end of its life. It had become more duct tape than fabric. As much as I wanted one more winter out of it, I’d already stretched it beyond capacity, and it was time for a replacement. We opened the pool and tucked the cover away while I could shop for the replacement.
Summer passes. The kids swam on a near daily basis. We had burgers on the patio, followed by night swims. Rafts and chlorine and only a few cases of swimmer’s ear. All the glory that is summer as a kid. That pool cover was all but forgotten.
At around the season’s midpoint, I knew I needed to get a replacement ordered. Images invaded my thoughts of a frozen, coverless pool, my cover stuck in a shipping container somewhere in the Pacific. I made a few calls, did some comparison, and got the wheels into motion.
To ensure a size match, our local store asked me to bring the old one in. Not an issue. I gathered up the cover I’d been storing and carted it over to be measured up. They helped me get it out of my van and left it in their parking lot to be spread out. I said thank you and headed into the store to get a restock of pool supplies.
I was in checkout when I first felt something was off. There was some commotion behind me. Heads were turning to see. And I was clueless.
A customer asked, “What’s going on?”
The clerk was happy to answer. “Some customer just dropped off a pool cover. There’s a baby possum inside.”
And I died.
No one had time to identify me. I ran after I paid for my things. The pool cover was still in the parking lot, but just kept going, avoiding eye contact at all costs. I got in my car and I was gone.
I still don’t really know why this one’s so embarrassing for me. Maybe it’s because I should have known better than to loosely store a giant tarp. Maybe it’s just that odd sensation of overhearing people talk about you without them knowing. Who knows? But I can tell you I’d prefer the awkward comments about my reproductive capabilities to stowaway baby animals.
*If you’re worried about the baby possum, don’t be. I overheard they were going to place it in the woods by the shop.
My book, All That Is Common To Man, is available now on Amazon.