Every summer my mother forces me, despite my various pleas otherwise, to take swimming lessons each morning at eight. Ever since we got a pool put into our backyard she's been more paranoid than ever, which says a lot. She's put double locks on the back door, a fence surrounding the pool, and has a fantasy that I will become a lifeguard when I'm 16.
Under any other circumstances becoming a lifeguard would be great. The exercise does wonders for staying fit, and the pay ranges from $12-18 per hour. Compared to minimum wage in my town, which is just over $7, I'd say that was pretty good. The only downside is these constant swimming lessons with instructors that expect me to swim 20 laps in under 15 minutes.
It was a Monday morning and my alarm clock woke me at 6:45 with the sound of country music nearly popping my ear drums. My little brother must have played around with the radio stations again. After a good 15 minutes of pressing the snooze button I manage to get out of bed and make my way to the bathroom. I washed my face and did a bunch of other boring stuff and then went downstairs to eat breakfast.
It's then that I see it . . . a jumbo pack of my favourite double chocolate chip cookies from Costco. On it was a post-it note that said, "Have a few after swimming is finished. DO NOT EAT THESE FOR BREAKFAST! Love you, Mom." Man, my Mom can be so controlling sometimes. After ripping off the post-it note and putting about five cookies on a plate, I sit in front of the TV and watch "The Weekenders", the only decent show on that early besides "French Kiss", which is basically a compilation of French music videos. Oh come on, you would have chosen "The Weekenders" too.
After eating all of my cookies and feeling rather rebellious, my stomach starts aching and I realize that I have to use the bathroom. I make a quick dash for it, and end up losing track of time because when I look at the clock it's already 7:50. Oh crud.
Did I forget to mention that not only does my mother make me waste my summers at early morning swimming lessons, she also makes me bike to the recreational center to take said lessons. Yeah, you heard me. Anyways, I book it out of the house and into the garage to get my bike. As I open the doors I realize that it's raining. For any other person this would be no problem, but you see, my family isn't normal. They apparently don't believe in umbrellas, and refuse to buy them thinking that they're useless and difficult to maneuver.
Luckily, I'm used to being out in the rain without any protection. As I'm about to get on my bike I notice a new kickstand on it. My dad must have put it on the previous night as a present. Gee, I don't know about you but my dad is just perfect at picking out gifts for his 15 year-old daughter. I stand there kicking the stupid contraption for a good 10 minutes, but it won't budge. This is when I start getting really frustrated. I begin kicking the stand harder, and stop when I notice my toe is bleeding. Just a tip, do not wear flip flops while punting your foot towards a stubborn kickstand. That is unless you have a steel toe, in which case, you'll be just fine.
I finally give up and grab my sister's bike, only to find that the chain is broken and the handle bars come off in my hands. This is when I realize I'm going to have to run to the pool. I grab my tote bag full of clean clothes and a towel, which are soaking wet at this point, and begin running. I can only imagine how I must have looked to an onlooker watching from their car.
I finally arrive and explain the story to my instructors, only to be scolded and ordered not to make up such farfetched stories. On top of that, I was threatened to be failed from the class. I swear, these instructors don't realize that they are not the only ones who have to get up early just to be there. Hey, at least they're getting paid for it.
As punishment, they added six laps to my normal endurance swim and forced me to do it all in front crawl. For all of you swimmers out there, you know how tiring front crawl can be . . . especially if you have no choice but to do TWENTY-SIX laps of it. Needless to say, when I finished I felt close to passing out, and my heavy breathing could drown out the sound of the rest of the people in the pool.
I guess you could say this disastrous day could be blamed on my parents. I mean, if my mom hadn't tempted me with those delicious Costco cookies, if my dad hadn't changed my kickstand, and if one of them decided to enter the twenty-first century and invest in an umbrella, chances are I wouldn't have been disciplined by my cranky swim instructors and be forced to do extra laps.
You hear that Mom and Dad?
Melissa
