I find my place in the geriatric parade.
We limp, creak, sidle, prop each other up,
Rather like Napoleon’s retreat from Moscow.
The pool looms as water aerobics class begins.
Our instructor, Vivian, glares at those who slowly immerse.
She never gets in the glacial water herself, however.
The dominatrix snaps staccato orders like a demented woodpecker.
“ Balance, Balance, Balance!”
I wear a flotation belt, which further distorts my center of gravity.
Balance isn’t an option.
“Noodle, Stand” she commands.
One attempts to remain upright on this contrivance.
Of course, the belt accelerates the downward spiral.
A chemical cocktail floods all one’s orifices.
“Barbells, Stand” she bellows.
I pass on this one as the bobbing ‘bells’ drift away.
We are then bidden to run laps in the water.
I encounter the second lappers whilst still on my first.
This elicits unbridled scorn.
She is too exercised to speak.
Why, you may well ask?
Exercise is good.
Corporate misery fosters friendship.
And, irritating Vivian is such bliss!
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