In the hot tub, DL and I rest for a moment, letting the watery heat therapeutic our bodies and brains. Then the water starts moving. We are in waves. Why? I glance to my side. On the steps floats a Large Bouncing Woman , jiggling her entire body up and down, up and down, creating wavy waves that jostle us back and forth. We both start to giggle.
DL’s eyes are wide, delighted behind her foggy round glasses.
“It was hilarious and marvelous!”
I let myself be waved about by Bouncing Woman’s machinations now. And think to myself how I’d never encountered anything like the Garmisch Wave Machine in all of the pools I’ve swum in since, and today, with Large Bouncing Woman making these little waves, I'm reminded me of those bigger waves in Germany, so long ago. I can still savor the delight. Still hear the Germans calling out in glee. Wave induced nostalgia? Sure, why not?
But back to today. I start to tell DL about my day, my woes, my shoes. I’d started wearing tennis shoes to work cause my ‘work’ shoes were hurting my little toe. It had become all red and swollen. And, I just didn’t care anymore how I looked at work. My Business Crisp days are over!
DL and I have started this thing about ‘not caring’. Or no, that’s not true, we are going to try not to care about things. And then text each other about what we don’t care about. For instance, I really don’t care that I’m wearing my tennis shoes to work now instead of my more business crisp footwear that hurts my toes. And really I don’t!
“And so if you wear men’s shoes than there’s more room for your toes!” Bouncing Woman exclaims, raising her foot out of the tub and spreading her digits. Then letting her foot fall back into the tub. Kersplash. More waves!
“Oh, yeah, that’s true,” I say. “I’ve been wearing boy’s shoes for my whole life.”
“Good for you!” She nods her approval, sinking back into the tub. “It’s called a ToeBox!”
That word: toebox! It sounds like a sinister receptacle for some evil kidnapper to send detached digits if the ransom isn’t paid pronto. “You better pay up, Mr. High and Mighty, or your daughter’s dear little toe is gonna show up in a toebox on your front step!” I see Marlon Brando in The Godfather, looming behind his massive desk, flicking a tiny box back and forth between his index fingers on the desk’s shinny top.
I still feel sort of wavy as I weave toward the sauna, though less queasy out of the watery heat and the wavy water.
Water and waves and ToeBoxes. It's hard to put it all together. So, I won't try. I'm just going to sit in the sauna, close my eyes, and feel the gentle wavy heat of Utopia.