Just keep swimming, swimming, swimming...

Sunday night I did something more liberating than NOS-ing. For those of you that are not aware, NOS-ing stands for naked ocean swim-ming, and it’s amazing, but it’s more of a cherry to the grape of Sunday night—swimming with all your clothes on.

Call me crazy, but Maria and I jumped in Carl’s pool after everyone left (including Carl) and in the immortal words of Ms. Rhodes, “I feel like a kid again.” Now I, personally, cannot take any credit for this late-night excursion because it was entirely Maria’s idea, and I was just along for the ride. However, I have not held someone’s hand, counted to three and leapt in a pool while trying to muffle my own high-pitched voice for fear of waking the neighbors since I was maybe 5.

And, might I add, there is nothing that can make you feel more like a mermaid than kicking around in a body of water with a dress on, the cloth floating and clinging and floating again. Even better—waddling down the sidewalk in the dark as you drip in all of the neighbors’ plants. I don’t think I even wrung out my hair once.

And, ladies and gentlemen, the piece de resistance. As I peeled off layers of wet fabric in the bathtub at home, what should fall to the ground but the $13 that I had folded up and shoved down my shirt when I didn’t have pockets earlier in the day? This, by the way, totally beats what I used to do to find money at age 5 by a long shot—digging through the change in my dad’s pockets. This time, I even got to keep some!