There is a very short window usually between the second and third weeks of July when we simply can’t bear looking at our backyard with that glaring absence of a pool.
Recognizing, Canadian summers aren’t very long and certainly are not predictable, we can’t help but feel for that solid, hot July week, our pool (if we had one) would be well loved and most definitely used.
We’d host parties…..but people might show up with a towel around their necks having just been circling the neighbourhood looking for an invite to a refreshing way to cool off so the numbers could potentially grow out of hand quickly.
We’d instantly regret the sentence, “Seriously, use it anytime you like, whether we’re home or not,” but would absolutely shout it from the rooftops without thinking the repercussions thoroughly through.
People would track water into the house rather than using the cabana with the palm frond fan, leather furniture and full wet-bar clearly marked, “Change House/Full Day Spa.” How could they miss the flagstone walkway, lights disguised as rocks (or are they rocks disguised as lights?) leading them to their private spa sanctuary and an icy cold lemonade?
That crawly pool cleaning gizmo would likely require maintenance after the first Band-Aid it choked on and how could I swim again after that poor little mouse found his way into the filter, likely spinning on its’ underwater wheel until he simply ran out of steam?
Here we are approaching week two and we’ve had two rain days, have already run out of hot dogs and there are wet towels hung from every hook we own but do you think I can find ONE dry one?
The chaise lounges we ordered to flank the patterned concrete perimeter heat up in the sun a lot faster than you might expect leaving an unsavoury skin blemish on your outer thighs.
People will complain about sunburns from not knowing how and when to reapply but that won’t stop them from lathering up from the giant bucket I’ll have to replenish each and every Saturday lest a new group of drop-ins come sniffing.
Have I mentioned the price involved in digging, pouring the cement, building the man-cave/garden house/spare garage/four-piece-bathroom change house? How about all of the additional landscaping we would need to make this project really pop?
Surely our insurance would sky rocket.
By the end of week two I’ll be waiting eight hours in the emergency room after severely concussion myself from a cannon ball contest that simply went too far.
Until next year, the dream lives.