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Somewhere back in June I decided that this was the summer my youngest child would learn to swim.

I had it all figured out: He would get in the pool with his instructor while I sat in the shade reading a book from the library. I would sip my iced tea, even doze a bit, and when the lesson was finished, we would drive home happy and fulfilled.

It took only a half hour to blow my plan, well, clean out of the water.

It started out just as I'd hoped. I checked out a nice long book from the library, brought a large glass of iced tea and even found an empty lounge chair in the shade. Before getting settled, I helped my little guy into the shallow end of the pool and made sure the instructor did his job — no small feat with a child who could easily argue an attorney into a corner.

I made myself comfortable on my chair, took a long drink of tea and cracked open my book. After reading the beginning page three times without comprehending the words, I decided it was time for a little nap. Just as I was about to doze off, my plan fell apart.

"He needs extra help between lessons," said a voice, piercing my consciousness. "It would be great if you could work with him in the pool every day between our lessons."

Was this voice talking to me? I opened an eye to discover a dripping instructor and wet child waiting by my chair. Sighing, I sat up and took in the bad news.

"Help?" I groaned. "I need to help him? Are you sure? Couldn't I just sit on the side and watch him? I can yell really loud; I promise. I could just tell him what to do."

After several minutes of continued whining, I came to the sad conclusion that there was no convincing this instructor. Nothing less than my getting in the water would work.

I finally agreed to this new routine on one condition — that I could find a swimsuit that would fit. I figured that was as good as a ticket out of the obligation. Even with the weight I've lost, I am not in any kind of shape to get a swimsuit off the rack. At least that's what I thought.

Did you know that there are entire lines of swimsuits which promise to make you look 10 pounds lighter? I discovered this wonderful fact while shopping at a local department store. Right there on the tag it promised to make me look at least 10 pounds lighter. Excited, I grabbed several and headed for the fitting room.

If I wore three of them at once, could I look 30 pounds lighter? That would mean I could quit my diet and exercise right now. Could I wear them under my street clothes?

Oh, the possibilities were flying fast and loose in my brain as I pulled the curtain shut and kicked off my shoes.

You really shouldn't try on swimsuits in the store. That's all the advice I have after my two-hour ordeal. I found out that I can still look like a stuffed sausage in a top-of-the-line swimsuit, no matter what the tag promises.

But I did find one swimsuit that worked.

The next morning I tugged and pulled and adjusted my new summer attire, shed my long sarong pool wrap and plunked myself down at the edge of the pool.

My little guy waded right in as I mustered up courage to join him in the shallow end already teeming with noisy children. I dangled one leg into the water and discovered the cool water felt pretty nice in the hot sun.

Ever so slowly, I lowered myself into the water and waded over to join my eager pupil.

For the next half hour, we practiced blowing bubbles in the water, splashing our arms about and making as much commotion as possible. In spite of my misgivings, I had a great time.

It was on the way home that inspiration hit me. Since I already had this new very expensive swimsuit, I might was well get some use out of it. Perhaps I should try swimming for exercise. I could come back later by myself and swim laps in this very pool.

That experience is a story for another day, but you can imagine how well it turned out. I am, after all, great at making plans.