And no, this does not refer to the dudes who have been contacting me on SpagnumLife recently... Former PNB excluded, bless his heart, although... of late, he has felt this need to cruely get my hopes up each time I log in and see a mail message, just to find that it has been tauntingly written by him (why, oh why cruel world). I am however, chatting with a young english chappie at the moment, thus feeding my anglo-addiction. I swear to the high heavens above... put a British accents on just about anything and I'll be all over it and a bag of chips... Perhaps an issue better left until a later date...
So, a few years back I lived in Mexico. Ixtapa to be exact. Nice little resort town on the Pacific Ocean, lots of beaches and bars... Senor Frogs et al... I happened to live there in the summer. Why someone from the Great White North would go and live in Mexico in the summer is something that I have yet to comprehend, but I did and it was super fun. Hot, but super fun. There is one day in particular that stands out in my mind. While walking around the resort where I worked, I became slightly overcome by the heat. Now, everyone wore bathing suits at all times at this resort, in part because one never knew when one would be thrown into the pool, but also because it was too hot to wear anything else. I learned in Mexico that it is possible to be so hot out, that a one piece bathing suit is just far too much clothing.
So one day, very hot... pass the pool on my way to somewhere or another and it looked mighty appealing. Anything to get refreshed. So I did a little strip down, all the while anticipating the cool and refreshing waters that I was soon to experience. Oh, I just could not wait to jump into that pool. And so I dove in.
Immediately, I felt a wave of nausea come over me. This was not supposed to happen. The horror of expecting cool water but instead getting water that was the temperature of a boiling kettle was too much to bear. I couldn't get out of that pool fast enough. To this day, I don't trust swimming pools. I look at them through suspicious and narrowed eyes. I see them, plotting... awaiting the day that I will once again jump in, only to have my hopes and dreams quashed by the evil and tepid chlorinated waters... YOU WON'T GET ME YOU POOLS!!!!!
OK, so that was a few years ago. You might have thought I had learned my lesson, but sadly, I had a similar experience this past week. Toronto in the summer is not that much cooler than Mexico. Maybe not as hot, but certainly sticky and smelly. Down in the subway station waiting to get on after a long hard day at work. SWELTERING. UGH... It was bearable because I knew that in a few moments, a train would come and then... glorious air conditioning.
And the train came. And there was much rejoicing. And the doors opened. And the rejoicing continued, albeit silently. And I boarded the train. And I almost puked. How it was that instead of air conditioning, the conductors had seemingly cranked the heat to full blast is beyond me... But once again, lesson learned. Needless to say, both pools and the subway have made it onto my hitherto unpublished "things that I mistrust" list.