I settled in to read Grace (Eventually), plopped in a chair behind the glass observation wall. A young lifeguard somehow managed to escape between our worlds and approached the couple sitting in front of me. I thought, Oh how nice. He's probably telling them that their kiddo is excelling, needs to be moved up. Or maybe the poor darling is scared. What can I say? I was feeling generous.
Then I heard, in painful slo-mo, the words no mother wants to hear at the pool: Open sores.
Yes. Young Master Joey McOozenton* came to the pool, and hopped on in with the unsuspecting youngsters, all with his grandparents' blessing. Good gravy folks, what were you thinking? And, um, ew.
Better yet, they managed to say something to dismiss the concerns, something that made the sores somehow alright-y with the lifeguard. I resisted the urge to plunge through the glass and yank Zack out.
I'm sure I'll regret my inaction soon enough. I think 'quarantine' is the word I'm searching for.
*not his real name
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