Pride

So, I don’t want to sound typical, but I don’t know how to swim. I mean, I used to. I don’t know what happened that made me “forget,” but one day, I just didn’t know how to do it.
My in-laws have a pool in their backyard. My husband has been trying to convince me to be his swimming prodigy since we got married (almost four years ago). But I’m scared… I’ll admit it! And I don’t want to mess up my hair.
My husband understood how I could be scared. But not wanting to mess up my hair?! He was baffled, “Can’t you just do your hair after you get out of the pool?”
Ummmmm… no. Today is not my hair day; Saturday is. You really should know this by now.
I think this to myself. I want to tell him nicely but I can’t imagine myself saying it without my voice being laced with frustration and frustration’s Siamese twin, sarcasm. So I remind him of a funny scene from a movie we saw.
“It’s like that movie, Pride, about the black swim team. The guy wants to swim but also wants to make sure his afro doesn’t get messed up.” That’s part of what makes that scene so funny. I understood where the guy was coming from. There is a lot of preparation that comes with “doing” ethnic hair. No need to mess it up early and double my hair time for the week just to be embarrassed and paralyzed with fear when the freezing cold water comes up to my chest. I Don’t Think So.