Posted by: tlnemethy | April 19, 2013

Merfolk and I

For years I’ve been living under the impression that I swim like a fish and that the water is my natural state of being. Come to find out, recently, that my father believes I cannot swim at all.  It is shocking.

I mean, that’s why I always feel so bad for people who audition for American Idol; someone always tells them that they can make it in the business when they are utterly cacophonous.

I’m not a pretty swimmer. Granted, I already knew that I would never win awards for my grace under tides, but I figured that swimming just means getting from point A. to point B. while in or under water. C’mon. Walking doesn’t mean you have a beautiful gait. I myself, walk with a swagger that I never realized until a competition was named for me and held yearly in my honor. The Walk Like Nem-Dog competition. Ah, the memories.

What a terrible feeling though, when I take up a gym membership only to use the pool and find out that I, in fact, cannot swim. Back stroke, yes. Breast stroke, yes. Front crawl, and the most common form of lap-swimming, hells no. Apparently I have a distinctive fear of keeping my face under the water for more than three strokes.

And yes, I know you are reading this Papa Bear. I never would have told you in person, but writing is just so much less personal and embarrassing to express one’s misconceptions of herself. So yes, you were right about my horrible attempts at swimming. Key word: were.

I have a month to swim like a friggin mermaid. And once I do, I will swim circles around you with my merfolk peeps.


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