Changing rooms

It’s the summer. Well at least it’s meant to be summer and that generally signals the great British public descending in their droves on their local swimming pools. With that brings a vast array sizes and shapes and body bits that might not see the light of day the rest of the time.  Now I would like to point out at this stage, that I am not some strange woman who sits in the corner of the changing rooms, spying on other people changing in and out of their costumes. No I’m really not! I am simply an observer of people and their habits and reactions to everyday situations and I do seem to find myself quite regularly in swimming pool changing rooms at the moment.

And the changing room is certainly full of interesting routines. I have mentioned before that I am fortunate enough to take my little girl to a private swimming pool and we go every Friday morning with a group of mums and prance around the pool like ninnies, singing and dancing. Ritual humiliation really, but A loves it.

Now the mums are all different shapes and sizes and it is a really small changing area.  There is a tiny shower and an even tinier toilet, so there really is absolutely nowhere to hide.  I blogged a few months back about the collective horror when a few of the dads started to come with their children.  Yes, it is lovely that dads want to take their little ones swimming, of course it is, but it makes the mums ability to change discreetly even more of a challenge.

Observing the changing rituals of the female swimming mums is an entertaining one indeed.  They seem to fit into three categories.  Firstly there is the brazen changer. Oh how I wish I was brave enough to be a brazen changer, although it can be a little uncomfortable for everyone else at times.  The brazen changer is so comfortable with their body that they parade around the changing room stark naked without a second thought.  And the brazen changer comes in all shapes and sizes.  There is a particular lady in our current group, who really is larger than life and she loves to natter to the other mums.  She pops a poncho towel over her little ones head and stuffs food into his hand and then proceeds to stroll around chatting loudly  to everyone whilst stripping off.  Whichever person she is talking to animatedly can be seen looking at the ceiling or floor, clearly not knowing quite where to look.  Is she bothered by men in the changing room?  Not a bit, usually commenting loudly that they have seen it all before.  Well if they hadn’t, they certainly have now.

Second, we have the speed changer.  There is one lady in my group who is out of the door like a whippet and honestly, she is dressed before I am even out of the pool.  It is incredible.  She must lay her outfits out so carefully as to put them on all in one go as apart from using magic, I do not know how she does it.  I followed her to the car park last week and I found myself trying to see if her clothes were wet as she must seriously put her clothes on over her swimming costume. I couldn’t get dressed that quickly normally even if my life or decency depended on it.

Then there is the furtive changer.  I sadly fall into this category.  The furtive changer is probably someone who does not really like going swimming at all, preferring activities where it is not necessary to show off excessive amounts of flesh.  The furtive changer will not show any more flesh than is needed and goes to great and dramatic lengths to cover up.  A series of towels and trying to get in and out of underwear in and around clothes and towels without anyone catching sight of a boob or a bottom cheek.  It is a work of art.  I thought that I had become quite good at it until a few weeks ago, when I was trying to put my knickers back on with one hand and holding my double towel cover up with the other and I lost my balance and fell backwards. There I was sprawled in the middle of the room wearing nothing but a very red face.  I was so embarrassed and what possibly made the situation worse, was that brazen changer was the one who helped me up with her wobbly bits shaking heartily as she laughed at my predicament.

Maybe I should encourage A to take up ballet?