Edna at the Pool

Not so much a blog as a monologue - a monoblog?

Edna is her sixties, dressed in sandals and a bathing suit cover up. 

We’re selling this timeshare.  Today.  George is going to try to argue about resale prices and currency exchange, but I don’t care.  This complex is ugly.  All these blocks of buildings, all the same. 

It wouldn’t be so bad if George wasn’t so stubborn.  For the third day in a row he wouldn’t come to the pool with me.  We didn’t fly all the way to Mesa to watch the Germans bomb London on the History Channel. 

So I put on my bathing suit and my new gold lame sandals and went acrost to the pool by myself.  Again.  I found a chair off in a corner, so I could take off my cover-up without everybody staring at my thighs.  None of those cellulite creams work like they say they will.

But as soon as I got comfortable I realized I forgot my book.  I wasn’t going to just sit around like a lump, so I gathered up all my things – the people here seem decent, but you can’t be too careful – and walked over to the shelf by the office to look through the basket of used paperbacks with the “take one leave one” sign.  Who would it hurt if I just borrowed one for a while?  I was rummaging through the Stephen Kings and Danielle Steeles, when a thin ratty-looking one fell open and a picture caught my eye.  The book was so old the pages were yellow, and someone had torn the cover right off.  But the picture was so surprising I couldn’t help but pick it up. 

It was called “Sixty-Nine Sexual Positions”.  And each one had pictures.  How did they get those couples to do those things?  In front of a camera? George and I wouldn’t of thought of those things even when we were newlyweds.

Well, by the time I got to the nineteenth picture, I was getting…  oh….  you know.  All flushed and sweating, and the sun wasn’t that warm yet.  I waited ‘til nobody was looking, shoved the book in my bag, and race-walked back to the condo. 

I knocked, and when George called out from the other room that the door was open I rushed right in, dropped my bag and cover-up, rolled down my one-piece and kicked it off.  Then I strutted around the corner in just my sandals, closed my eyes and threw my head back, struck a pose up against the wall, and thought of Photo 17.

Well.  George didn’t make a sound, and I was thinking I’d shocked him speechless when I realized it was too quiet.  No TV.  No George saying “What are you doing, Erna?” Then a deep-voiced chuckle that wasn’t George at all. 

I opened my eyes.

And Lord above, I was in the wrong building.  Starkers.  In front of four men playing poker and smoking.   

George can say what he wants about exchange rates.  But I’m calling the realtor. 

This piece was broadcast on CBC Saskatchewan's SoundXChange this fall, complete with a real actor and some funky Caribbean music.

Comments

[Pam]

Oh Leeann! Is this a true story about a woman I may have heard other stories about?? Too funny!

[Pam]

Oh Leeann! Is this a true story about a woman I may have heard other stories about?? Too funny!

[Maureen]

Hilarious! It would have been great to listen to the audio-version of this! Could you link the CBC version to your blog?

[Leeann]

Hey Pam - it's not a true story... as far as I'm telling anyone.

Maureen, the CBC show is not online - some kind of copyright issue (with the music, I think).

Thanks for the comments!

Leeann

[Sally Tubello]

Way too funny. Perfect remedy for a cold winter's night :)

[Annemarie]

That brought tears to my eyes.