As close as I came to skinny dippin’

My back feels exactly like a 600-pound boa constrictor squeezed me just a tad too tight. I’m fine sitting down, but standing up straight is painful, and walking is nothing short of excruciating. And no, I know it’s pretty high, but I did not fall out of that tree house.

I know you probably assume I spend my time up here sitting on those beautiful blue chairs on the end of the deck, but in reality, this is a “working” lake house. I do quite a bit of physical labor up here; four kids to feed without a microwave or dishwasher, the hoses I drag around to water the plants and garden, the pan of dishwater I lift 6 or 7 times a day, there are lots of stairs, little boys to pick up, and suddenly, now that everything hurts, I’m realizing that the simple act of picking up a pile of wet beach towels to carry up the stairs to hang on the clothes line actually does put a strain on your back. There’s a reason those blue chairs are empty.

My pilgrimage to the Urgent Care made this our family’s 5th collective visit, thank you very much. The very nice doctor gave me some very velvety smooth prescriptions that did nothing to alleviate my pain, but left me feeling very good.

Smiling, I walked down to visit my friend, the very awesome skier, to brag about my new pills and how “wonderful” I currently felt. The boys came bounding out with their tubes, ready for their 5 p.m. tubing run. I quickly volunteered to drive, but my friend jumped in and said, “We’ll go in our boat… it’s already gassed up and ready to go.” Did I also mention that my friend is also very intelligent?

I offered to come along as the spotter — just so I could take some video with my new camera.

The heat of the day caught me off-guard. I’m so used to being cold on the boat, that I didn’t think twice about wearing my “street” clothes. Soon, the sun’s rays were beaming down on me, as we bounced up and down in the boat in circle after circle around the lake, up and down across the waves. There were smaller circles each time someone fell off their tube, as we came back around to pick them up.

Bam, right out of the deep blue water, I was suddenly sick. So sick. I turned to my friend and said, “The only bad thing about these velvety drugs is how sick they make you feel.”

I was so hot, and the heat was suffocating me. Pools of sweat gathered around my legs, and my face, and I needed cool air, and it was nowhere to be found. The need to tear my clothes off was intense. My shirt didn’t seem to matter… all I wanted was the feel of air across my skin, drying the sweat, cooling me off, so that I could cope with the jelly-belly pain in my stomach.

As purely a survival reflex, I tugged at my shirt. Sweat was so thick around me that my shirt clung to me like Saran wrap. I needed air… right now… and my clothes, wrapped so tightly around me, were literally choking me like that same boa constrictor that messed up my back. I was ready to tear off every stitch of clothing I had… and then, I took one look at the four pre-adolescent boys facing me at the back of the boat,

and then I thought of my 60+year-old neighbor, currently puttering in his garage, ready to settle down on his porch, any second now, for his 6 p.m. dinner and accompanying rum and coke. I thought better of it, and I left my shirt on.

The boys asked for one more round of tubing around the lake, and my very intelligent friend said, “We need to get your your mommy back on dry land as soon as possible.” And that she did; and not a second too late. Did I also mention that she also takes very good care of me? But, there was that slight stall coming into the dock when the boys tried to find the turtle on the boat lift.

I left the boat, clutching my camera, barely able to lift my legs because of the pain in my back, said something about cruises and seasickness and began my huddled, bent-over-like-a- 90-year-old woman 400-feet walk back to my place. My shirt and my jeans still clinging to me in sweat, as if I had actually swam in them. I’m sure I didn’t even say “bye,” or “thanks!” or “see ya’ later!” I only kept saying to myself, “Just a few more steps, and you’ll be home.” Of course, the little boys were tagging right along beside me holding up their arms with various paraphernalia, saying, “Can you hold this life jacket for me… can you hold my turtle?”

I looked across that calm lake, the ripples basking in the afternoon sun, and realized I was probably the only person in its history who was capable of getting sick on its 90-acres – a mere puddle.

When I finally arrived back home and looked in the mirror, I realized how remarkably similar my skin-tone looked to the frogs my boys catch in the lake.

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