A home truth about swimming
‘Why do you make me go swimming if you don’t like it yourself?’ DD asked me this morning.
‘I love swimming!’ I said.
‘No you don’t. You never swim properly,’ she said. ‘You just float about on my noodle trying not to get your hair wet.’
‘Ah,’ I said. ‘Good point. I do these days – but when I was your age I loved swimming. I was under the water all the time, doing handstands and roly-polys and leaping off the diving boards. I was the house swimming captain! Bet you didn’t know that?’
‘Wow,’ she breathed. ‘So what happened?’
‘Well,’ I said, thinking she’s old enough for a bit of honesty. ‘I started dying my hair and the chemicals in the pool will wreck the chemicals in my hair so I just find it easier not to get it wet.’
‘Have you heard of swimming caps?’ she asked. Cheeky monkey.
‘Another good point,’ I said. ‘But unless I had wet hair that was full of conditioner, the sticky rubber of the cap would break my hair. I have very fine hair, you know.’
At this, DD almost fell off her chair laughing. ‘Mummy!’ she snorted. ‘It’s so rude to boast! Did no-one tell you that?’ She did an impression of me, swaggering about the room: ‘Oh hello! I’m mummy. I’ve got very fine hair!’
I let her laugh a bit more – before I told her she’d got fine hair, too.