Last weekend the weather was gorgeously hot and sunny, so to capitalize on the last days of summer I decided to make Sunday a pool day. If you’re not up for swimming in the pacific ocean or one of the several lakes here, you basically have two options: hit up the super posh, oh-so-gorgeous-beach-hotel pool/spa that’s located right on the ocean, or the go to the downtown hotel that’s slightly ghetto but has a decent pool and cheap drinks. Not in the mood to run into a bunch of people I know, I chose the latter.
So, there I was at the ghetto pool, laying out on a pool recliner, enjoying my $6 neon green margarita and remarking on the fact that I’d chosen wisely (aside from myself, there was only a small group of girls, a two guys and a couple sharing the pool deck = heaven) I was just starting to really get into my book and slip into a deep feeling of relaxation, when I noticed a man and a teenage girl walk into the pool area and approach the group of girls who were sitting in the pool chairs next to me. I looked up from my book and thought,
“Hey, that guy looks kind of familiar”
Then it hit me.
SHIT. THAT GUY IS FITNESS GUY. HE’S HERE. WITH HIS DAUGHTER. FUCK.
I haven’t seen or heard from Fitness Guy since he stood me up and I called things off. It’s a small town, and I knew that eventually I’d run into him – in fact, I’d been dreading the moment since we parted ways. I just didn’t expect it to happen at that moment….you know, while I was half naked in a bathing suit.
When he sat down three deck chairs away from me, my heart started to race. Luckily, I was wearing giant, oversized sunglasses a la Audrey Hepburn, so he didn’t recognize me right away. I hunched down in my deck chair and furiously texted my best friend:
“Fitness Guy is here. With his daughter. What do I do?! Run? Hide?! Jump in the Pool and see how long I can hold my breath?!”
As I waited for her to respond, I tried to calm the pounding in my chest. It took me by surprise because I hadn’t felt this kind of anxiety in months. As I waited for my second margarita to arrive, I gave myself a very angry pep talk.
WHAT THE FUCK SIMONE. WHY ARE YOU FREAKING OUT? HE’S A JERK. YOU DUMPED HIM. HE HASN’T SEEN YOU YET BUT YOU LOOK FUCKING HOT. YOU’VE BEEN WORKING OUT AND LEARNING HOW TO PUNCH THINGS AND YOU’RE WEARING THAT RETRO LEOPARD PRINT BIKINI THAT MAKES YOUR BOOBS LOOK AMAZING. GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER. WHY ARE YOU SWEATING A 40-YEAR OLD GUY WHO’S WEARING DAD SHORTS…AND WAIT, ARE THOSE AQUA SANDALS?!
However, the longer I stayed paralyzed in that deck chair, listening to Fitness Guy talk to the girls next to me (who I learned were his younger cousin and her friends), I realized something: I don’t think he recognized me…at all. You date someone for a few months, see them naked, and yet don’t recognize them in a bathing suit? Is this actually possible?
To test my theory, I dove into the pool, did a few laps and then got out of the pool right by where Fitness Guy was sitting. When I emerged out of the pool, water dripping off my leopard print bikini, I looked directly at him through my dark shades. If there was recognition in the blank stare he gave me, I didn’t see it. Why was I surprised? He didn’t see me when we were dating, why would he now?
When the two guys sitting nearby asked me what I was reading and whether I’d like to join them for a drink, I decided that this was a welcome escape from the awkward situation playing out next to me.



















