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“I’m taking the class!” my mother retorts and looks at Sal. “Right, Sal? We’re taking the class!”
Sal doesn’t say anything, though. Probably because he’s too busy staring—and drooling—at my mom’s bare-fucking-ass.
“Ladies, now you know we can’t have our class if you’re going to be arguing the whole time.” Carrie tries to placate the two crazies, but it’s no use. My mom and Betty start shouting nonsense toward each other, with Nan occasionally joining in on the insanity.
“Get a room!”
“Get a new scooter!”
“Get a life!”
“You’re an old hag!”
The jabs are flying left and right at such a rapid pace, it’s hard to know who is saying what.
“Your mother was an old hag!”
“Don’t you talk about my momma like that! She was a wonderful woman!”
“Yeah, well, my mom was a nurse in the war!”
By this point, the instructor, bless her heart, has lost all control, and other people in the pool start shouting their frustration.
“The clubhouse needs to get some better chefs!”
“Yeah! The chicken is crap!”
“I hate this class!”
“Me too! I hate aerobics!”
“And I hate the music you play in this class!”
When I realize someone needs to step up and get this shit under control, I hop up from my lounger, and with two fingers to my lips, I whistle so loud it makes Nan cover her ears.
“That’s enough!” I exclaim. “Everyone just calm down!”
The group goes silent, and I try to ignore the way some of the old men stare at my boobs with googly eyes and keep going. “Betty and Nan, you two will stay in the class at that end of the pool, and we’ll do our own class at the other end! And whoever is supposed to be in this nice lady’s water aerobics class needs to stay in this class, even if you don’t want to be there or don’t like the music or whatever! The exercise is good for your health!”
“Goddammit! This place is like a prison.” One little old man splashes a frustrated hand in the water, but for the most part, it appears I’ve settled down the out-of-control crowd enough to put their verbal pitchforks away.
Carrie looks at me with wide, thankful eyes, and I just offer her a small smile and nod of my head.
Goodness, I feel for that woman. No one in their right mind should subject themselves to teaching water aerobics to this lot of judgy old people.
But a few minutes later, once Carrie has turned on her boombox and begins instructing her class in warmup stretches, my mother breaks my bliss bubble.
“This is going to be so much fun, Car!” My mom claps her hands together excitedly. “Not only do I not have to deal with those betches, but I can finally do aerobics to music I actually like!”
It’s then I start to realize what I actually said during my tirade.
Oh, for fuck’s sake. This was supposed to be nap time!
Today, instead of relaxing in the sun, I get to do water aerobics with my mom and Sal and the fucking Bee Gees.
Son of a bitch.
While my mom starts scrolling through her favorite music on her phone, I throw myself back down on my lounger and try to mentally prepare myself.
Although, instead of finding my inner Zen, it’s not long before I have my phone out of my jeans pocket and I’m texting the one person who can actually understand the pain of my current situation.
Ryan
I hit send on an urgent email to my team, and just before I can move along to the next task on my never-ending list, my phone vibrates on the table.
When I spot the name of the texter, I don’t hesitate to pick up my cell and read the message.
Carly: You owe me so big, Ryan. SO big.
I furrow my brow and type out a quick response.
Me: What? Why? Don’t tell me they’ve already pushed you toward the edge that quick…
Carly: Since I left your dad’s house with these two loons, I’ve had to break up two fights, avoid a gang initiation, witness your dad drool over my mother’s ass, and volunteer as tribute to instruct an aerobics class for our parents.
Holy shit. That’s a lot of things.
Me: WHAT? You’ve only been gone an hour.
Carly: Surely I’ve been with them longer than that. Eight hours? Possibly ten?
I steal a glance at the time on my phone, and I bite my lip to fight my laughter as I update her on the facts of the situation.
Me: Actually, not even an hour. Fifty minutes, to be exact.
Carly: Way to make me feel better, Ryan.
Me: Lol. Sorry. You want me to come get my dad?
Please say no. Please say no.
Carly: No. I just wanted you to know what I was going through.
I breathe out a sigh of relief that I still have more uninterrupted work time, but also, I smile over the motives of this conversation.
