Public pools, a moms’ nightmare

If you are still not understanding why was born, and why it is growing so much, here is the very nice story of a mother about her day just spent in an overcrowded Italian public swimming pool, which explains everything perfectly! Amazing Giada Sundas!

public pools, a moms' nightmare

“Two days ago I was in Hades, also called the water park, alone with my daughter.
  Come on, I thought, who wants to go to in these places on Tuesday morning?
  No less than twelve kids’ teams from local parishes with all the Madonnas and cherubs, an INPS crew of retirees living la vida loca and a family with eleven children, thus giving the environment the pleasant and relaxing atmosphere of the Beijing metro.
  I do, therefore, take a long queue to enter; at a certain time the lady before me had to give up and go away because her son was going to graduate, even if on arrival he was eight months old, allowing us to reach the cash desk.

– How old is the girl? – the casher asked me.
– When we got in line she was two years old –
– Reduced, then. Total is twelve thousand euros, do you also want a sunbed? –
– Do you accept card payments? –
– No, only scissors and stone –
Having managed to cross the gates, the changing rooms and the moat with trouts fed with crackers’ crumbs, we head towards the children’s pool to find a place nearby.
– Mom, hold me –
– Honey, no, please walk. Can’t you see that mom has no more prehensile limbs available? –
– Hold me –
I have the bag of towels in my right hand, the bucket of Spongebob in the left, the cooler bag in the crease of my elbow, the payment change crumpled with the receipt and tucked into the swimsuit, the crooked glasses and a flip-flop on the which has escaped the finger to flip.
– Hold me
I hold her up over my shoulder like a ghettoblaster and reach the swimming pool.
It is hell.
Temperature, crowding and suffering are unequivocal signs.
– Come here to put the sunscreen on –
– No –
– Please listen to me, come and get the sunscreen on –
– NO –
and a spray chase starts where, with half of the bottle, I assure sun protection to those present from there to the Babylonian coasts of the Euphrates.
Finally we enter the water, not before we have passed through a cryogenizing foot-washing tank, and we sit down to play on the edge.
Behind us comes an eighty-year-old woman with the Postalmarket floral patterned swimsuit from ’42.
Uh! It’s cold! –
– Eh, they just turned on the boiler, give it some time –
After two hours I convince my daughter to go on a slide, she chooses the one with a 70% slope that ends against a reinforced concrete breakwater, with a queue from Rome to Bangkok via London. We camp and survive by eating the elders with sudamine cooked in the sun. At dawn on the sixth day our turn comes.
There, sitting on a chair with the red STAFF T-shirt, there is the little Go! man. He is a very performing young specimen, subjected to hard military training in the third Alpine division of the “Go!”, born predestined. Like the Dalai Lama. We have never heard him say anything else than “Go!”, legend has it that he once got it wrong and said “Start!”, but there are no reliable sources on this. To date we only know that he is a lonely man, because when his fiancée told him that she wanted to take a break, he answered “Go!” and she never came back.
As we go down the slide a tit slips out.
– Mom look at me! I dive! – and drinks a quarter of water from the total of the establishment. A compound of 50% urine, 30% bleach and 20% Nivea kids.
– Eh –
I realize that on the leg I have a tuft of hair that has escaped waxing which gives my knee the vague appearance of Marco Columbro, a fleet of two onces’ mosquitoes drains us like dried tomatoes.
Splashes, screams, someone throws a ball in my face and now I’m a pug-dog, it’s hot, too hot …
– Shall we go get ice cream? –
– No, I want tortellini –
At five pm everything ends, in the tanks there are three centimeters of brine on which two plasters, four ladybugs and a corpse that has not believed in the predictions of “Go!” float, and just as I think I did it, that I survived the day, she approaches me and says “mom, I have to poop.”

From “Mamme Coraggiose per Figli Ribelli” by Giada Sundas – Garzanti

"Mamme Coraggiose per Figli Ribelli" di Giada Sundas - Garzanti