So the other morning I discovered first hand the absolute worst place to run into someone you sort of like.
Firstly, you're almost certain to be clad in lycra (and not much else). If you're a girl, it's likely to be a fairly high cut number and unforgiving to any bikini line unkemptness, uneven tan lines or unseemly rolls of fat that might have developed over the course of three successive large weekends and the misfortune of living a block from McDonalds. And if you've just finished your laps, you've probably got some extreme red marks from your $12 Target goggles and the muscleback one-piece you're wearing probably does little to flatter your Libby Trickett sized shoulders.
All you can hope for is to be the one who first notices the presence of the other, so as to have the power to retreat without notice, but also the chance to check out the body of said crush and, of course, judge their choice of swimwear.
My first instinct was, obviously, to run far, far away as fast as my bare legs would carry me. But given said crush has the painfully irritating habit of taking up to 48 hours to respond to a text message, and I was about 18 hours into the response period, I decided to use my position of power and approach and confront him over aforementioned lack of text etiquette. Thankfully, I had the foresight to strategically place sunglasses over horrendous goggle marks and casually drape a towel over my hips/love handles.
I won't go into the details of the exchange - there were a few dramatic phrases bandied about, such as referring to "digging oneself into a hole" (him), talk of "wanting to pursue something but not wanting to mess anyone around" (him), referring to oneself as a "dick" (him), and ending with a conclusive response which was essentially a slightly longer winded and more senstive version of "neeeeeext!" (me).
I might have felt sad were it not for noticing his very minimal swimwear had "Speedo" written across the bum in multi coloured font which, through fading, appeared to say "pedo".