This is the story.

Of a man named Brady.

Well, not really. It’s more about a pool. In fact, I don’t think I know anyone named Brady. I did once, but technically we didn’t “know know” each other. I think his mom knew my mom for some reason or other, and at some point the name got tossed out and I heard it. Of course, at that point, he wasn’t in what most people would consider “man” stage yet. He was maybe two years older than me. But even that is irrelevant, considering that the original man named Brady was actually named Mike. Brady was his last name, not his first. I can’t say that I’ve ever known anyone with the last name Brady. That’s not to say that there aren’t stories about men named Brady, or men with the last name Brady, or even just men. But the story that I’m telling today has nothing to do with any of those things.

Okay, I suppose that technically, some men are involved in the story. But certainly no Bradys of either variety.

This is an overplayed story about a pool that was started while I was in Italy, and due to be finished before I returned home. This is a story chronicling great joy, and also immeasurable anguish. Viewer discretion is advised.

Now, for the beginning.

Whilst studying in Italy, it was brought to my attention that my family had gone cape-split crazy. By the time I was reunited with these crazies, the asylum in which we reside was supposed to be fitted with a brand-splashin’-new pool, hot tub, and “deck house” (for lack of a legitimate term).

I realize that the phrase is often overused, but it seems that everytime you go, they put in a pool. I go to Italy, they put in a pool. I go to the grocery store, they put in a pool. I go to sleep, they put in a pool.

Once they tell me this, I – still in Italy – am definitely on (diving) board. (Though in all actuality, there isn’t a diving board, and probably won’t be. Don’t make me no nevermind.) This way, we can all be crazy together.

I hear stories of large prefabricated pools being hauled down the street of our residence. People must think that we’re the unlucky site of the first giant TV dinner landfill.

Italy waved goodbye to us, the Departed, whilst I, in my swimsuit already, dreamed of can-opener-ing into the pool the instant I got home. (That sentence is the biggest lie I’ve ever typed. I don’t know how to do a can-opener. The pool was the last thing on my mind [see: Jessica] I didn’t take my swimsuit to Italy, and most certainly wouldn’t wear it to travel. We weren’t the Departed, that was Nicholson and Leonardo and Jason Bourne and Marky Mark. And Italy can’t wave. It’s a boot. Duh.)

I arrived home, and was greeted to a backyard full of…basically nothing. It seems everyone was waiting on everyone else to get started. How very ridiculous. With some doing, the deck house finally managed to get built, after the rain filled our hot tub with all manner of twig and dirt and grime. Soon after I setteled in, the hot tub was up and running. Glorious. Nothing better than sitting in the hot tub, then getting in the pool to cool off a bit. (Another lie. I like the hot. I just needed to set up the next joke.) Unless the pool is filled with nasty water with all manner of twig and dirt and mud and grime and cat and whatever else managed to fall in and stay in.

The pool guys are waiting on the concrete guys who are waiting on the weather guys to stop sending the cloud guys to drop the rain guys on our site…guys. So nothing gets done for a very long time.

Until this weekend. Suddenly, the planets aligned and someone decided to work. Concrete was done by Sunday. The pool guys set everything up Monday. We were filling by Monday evening.

We even got in for a while. It was FRIGID. I got in for sibling’s sake. We always manage to have fun. And we did. So there.

So today, now that it’s all topped off, and ready to go…

…clouds and rain. Touché, weather. Touché.

FIN.

I’m just in a long winded prosey-cheeks mood today, I suppose. Granted, the faster today cheeses it, the faster I get to cheese it to Austin.

I GEDDA SEE JESS.

So with that as my driving force (Get it? Driving to Austin? ha HA.), anything that bids today “Siyonara” gets a thumbs-up in my book. (I’ve got to find this book. Or “the record”. Just for the record, the record must be full of awesome. I’d bet the book is kinda cool too. Wonder if it comes in paperback?)

And it’s only 11:00am.

Soon, and very soon.

Charles