I spent Tuesday at a waterpark called "White Water," in Branson. The kids and I met two of my best friends and their kids/grandkids for a day of chlorinated fun. Don't get me wrong: as I have for years, I came willingly and with eyes open. I knew what to expect.
There is something that happens when hundreds of people descend on a confined space in swimsuits. What's the word I'm looking for...? Oh yeah. Gross.
I am no poster child for beauty, or for the donning of a swimsuit. But I must admit that my Auntie Grace's mantra--"No matter where you go, there is always someone who looks worse than you do"--is a palpable truth on the asphalt paths of this watery amusement park.
Most of our day was spent in the kiddie area, complete with slides and fountains spraying from the ground to the delight of the waterlogged munchkins. We watched little 3-year-old Murphy play while the big kids traveled around to the bigger rides. (And I have to give a shout out to these brave souls who are willing to drop four stories half-naked on a slide). At one point, my buddy Judy gave me a sideways glance.
"Gladys," she began (that's my favorite nickname, which deserves explanation at another time), "have you been thinking about pink spandex?" I looked at her quizzically, and she cast her eyes across the pool. I followed her gaze to find a sizable lady sporting a black tank top and pink camo leggings, sprawled out happily, every dimple the world to see.
A bit later, Judy returned from a trip to the concession stand. "Did you hear that Charles Manson was released on parole?" she asked casually, as she joined me poolside. I just looked at her.
"He was not," I said suspiciously.
"Well, he was in front of me in line," she responded.
Were an anthropologist to plop down in the middle of White Water on this day, studying this snapshot of humanity, he/she would report a great affinity for cakes of funnel, nachos piled high, and tattoos: Lots of tributes to girlfriends past, the confederacy, various forms of "art" all emblazoned on rolls of sunburned flesh. The PhD might also notice that people like to place little babies in public pools of water with loosely fitting diapers on and nothing else.
My hypercritical view of my whereabouts notwithstanding, a good time was had by all. We were crispy critters as we took leave of this little slice of Americana. We will likely return before summer's end. It's what we do.
In the meantime, if I need a fix of Lycra or tats or processed food on dry land, I will just pay my local Walmart a visit. Fully clothed.
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