“I’m going swimming in the pool this afternoon,” I told Charlie. “Are you going to try it?”
“Try it? I’ve been down there for the last two days in a row,” he said. “While you were taking a nap I was down at the pool. I’m heading down there right now.”
Charlie and I are staying at a motel in Gatlinburg, Tennessee. It’s part of our nine-day summer vacation before we get too old to do it. When I looked out at the pool there were so many people swimming that I went to the lobby first to question the desk clerk.
“Yes, sir,” he said. “The pool is a little crowded because we have a local swim club that meets here every afternoon. I do want to warn you though that we have had a slight problem. When the pool is crowded some naked guy wearing only a bag over his head has been flashing the people at the pool.”
“A streaker?”
“Yes. He seems to be harmless, though. We’ll probably catch him soon.”
At the pool I got a deck chair next to three ladies who were sunning themselves as they talked. I heard a commotion and lo and behold! Here came Charlie. He was stark naked except for a bag over his head as he walked around the pool. I would recognize those pasty white legs and beer belly anywhere.
“Oh, my God! Would you look at this?” one of the ladies said, as Charlie walked toward us.
“Well, at least it’s not my husband,” one of the women said. “I would recognize him immediately.”
“He’s not mine either,” her friend said. “I know what my husband looks like.”
Charlie walked past our deck chairs.
“Wait a minute,” the other woman said. “This guy is not even in our swim club.”
