As some of you know, I have a swimming pool.
I have a pool because it came with the house. Of course, this house also came with spectacularly cheap rent, a garage full of stuff the real owners (have forgotten they) are stowing, and the owner’s dog. (She’s my dog now, though. Mine!)
I don’t bitch much about the pool. I can’t really justify complaining about it because (1) It’s a private pool in my backyard; (2) I live in Arkansas, where the humidity hovers around 1 million percent in the dead of summer; and (3) It’s a private pool in a relatively secluded area. Besides, a significant reserve of real water is pretty much always welcome and desired in these parts, so long as it’s not infested with mosquitoes or water moccasins. (My pool has neither. Once I had a tadpole problem, but that’s because I left the creepy crawler in for, like, four days when I went out of town, and when I came back I had tadpoles.)
Regardless, I have a love-hate relationship with the pool. It really is rather expensive to maintain a pool — even the above-ground variety — in a single-income (and often unemployed) household. Yet despite the constant, time consuming, required upkeep of a healthy pool — water, chemicals, skimming, etc. — there is almost nothing I adore more than swimming naked in the moonlight. (Or, more specifically, floating nude on my back while gazing at the stars. But it is still a spectacular and singular experience,)
Still, having a pool — even an above-ground pool with a built-around-deck — is a shitload of work. And I kind of hate that work. (And yes, well, I hate most any kind of work that translates to physical labor. Such is not a significant revelation.) Yet maintaining the pool is mostly tolerable in the “open season,” though. I mean, I’m not an “outside” person. Sunlight mostly sucks except when it’s filtering lightly through my blinds and casting a much-needed healthy glow on Buffy’s visage on my TV during my repeated viewings of season six.
Nevertheless, I maintained the pool and stayed current with all that costly and time-consuming extraneous pool maintenance shit for — well, a lot longer than I probably should have — in 2008. Part of that was because there is nothing more exquisite and pleasurable for me than lolling around naked in moonlit water. As such, I took advantage of the fact that this Arkansas fall has been unseasonably warm and that the pool was still usable until late September.
But I’ll also admit to not giving two shits about some pool-related things about which others are far more militant. In point of fact, I pee in the pool and encourage other people to pee in the pool.
It’s not totally gross, though. Fact the first: urine is sterile. Fact the second: there are tons of chemicals in that pool killing all kinds of microorganisms all the time. Fact the third: I would rather not have small-bladdered four-year-olds running across my hardwood floors 7.6 times an hour to go inside to pee, dripping water all over the place. Fact the fourth: I would rather not have drunk 40-year-olds lumbering across my hardwood floors 7.6 times an hour to go inside to pee, dripping water all over the place. Fact the fifth: alcohol kills lots of stuff, and I’m fairly certain the beer-to-pee ratio in my pool was in my favor most of the summer.