The Swimming Pool (the Speedo and the Tatas)

You in the states might not think this merits a blog, especially when I tell you that most pools here require speedos. (Apparently this requirement of speedos is there for reasons of sanitation, I guess they don’t want people wearing shorts or non swim apparel in the pool.) I know what you are thinking – if I went to the pool, and they require speedos, I wore a speedo. Oh yeah, you know it! I have no shame, I embrace my euro brothers in the sporting of the speedo. Here’s the evidence.

But believe it or not, it’s not the speedo that attracts me to the pool. My buddy Manu is great source of knowledge about a wide variety of all things French things such as skiing the Alps, how to properly cut various types of cheese, in which order to eat things during a meal, and where to go to see great tatas – hence the pool which he introduced me to.

Just back from the Alps, he called me up to see if I wanted to drop by the pool after work yesterday. And no sooner did we arrive, were greeted with a mountain of tatas (not the Alps genre). These chicks walk around without a care in the world, talk to whomever at the pool bar, in the pool, while tanning, or whatever. No complaints here. Frankly it’s like a giant underwear party, minus half the underwear (although I usually rock boxers, though I admit it’s very liberating to walk around in the speedo.) Friday I am heading down to Nice, should be another great show.

Quarter-life crisis lesson number # 37 – when in doubt, go to the pool.