A Bad Person with a Good Arm

It's a good thing when your spouse knows you well.  In the case of Sunday's "incident", it saved my life.

We were at the pool, "swimming" with the kids, which usually means treading water and getting splashed in the face.  (I think I stopped loving swimming when I started wearing mascara, because, where I used to pretend that I was a mermaid or dolphin for hours on end, now I just try to keep my face dry.)

Anyhoo.

Tamsin found a tennis ball floating in the deep end, and was trying to swim it back to the shallow end.  Strong swimmers can do this.  Five-year-olds really need that extra "paddle hand" to make it work, so I took it from her and lobbed it about 15 metres down the lane, to swim towards.

Of course, it somehow hit Fis squarely on the back of the head.  Now, I have never been hit by a wet tennis ball from that distance, but apparently it hurts a lot.  He was already cranky from a slight cold and Movember*, so being whacked on the head with a hard, wet ball turned him into SuperFis, someone that you totally never want to meet.  Ever.

I'm pretty sure, that if I had been within arm's reach, I would have been instantly drowned and/or dismembered, but even though it was funny I realized that a) being hit with that ball would have hurt a lot and 2) he would kill me if I laughed.  So I kept a straight face, apologized profusely, tried to explain what I was doing, and reminded him that if I had been trying, there was no possible way I could have made that shot. 

I guess he realized that was true, since I only tend to hit him with thrown items when I am aiming in a completely different direction.**  If I'm throwing things to him, they consistently are not even close.  So, he let me live.

I took a deep breath, maintained that straight face, and continued on swimming with Tamsin. 

A few moments later, ball in hand again -- and this speaks either to my maturity, my sense of playfulness and fun, or the fact that I am truly a terrible mother and horrible human being -- I saw Ailsa floating like an otter, a good 15 metres away, and I wondered whether I could capsize her from that range.

Obviously, I didn't try.  But the thought definitely crossed my mind, which was worrying. 

Besides, I'd never have been able to make that shot.

However, a few minutes later, when I threw the ball for Tamsin to swim after, I missed Ailsa's head by about 2 mm. 

SuperFis whirled around to glare at me, moustache bristling. 

"What?" I said.  "I missed."




* Movember:  still the worst month of the year.

** Like, every time.