Floating Psychosis

You might think my pool harbored the loch ness monster and sloshed on the shore of a volcano with a view directly into the event horizon beyond which lie the secrets within a black hole. If that seems a stretch to you, then, know that I approached reentry into these long abandoned waters with at least the care of the svelte newscaster turned diver who donned her dry suit to test the waters in the Gulf of Leak if not quite as much reason, well hardly any reason at all. But when it reached 110 degrees in my backyard today it seemed like just the right day to buy an inflatable chaise lounge and brave the elements of fear surrounding disrobing sufficiently to lounge submerged by almost an inch of water. My pool is hidden behind two sets of gates and 1/3 of an acre but there is a neighbor who could stand on her upstairs deck and possibly see something; there are delivery men who come up my drive way and there is an occasional hovering aircraft within a mile or less. And all modesty aside, I should avoid the sun like poison in order to defer the crepe paper that my skin is determined to become. So, this preamble explains my search through closets for just the right bathing frock. I settled on a two piece and while that description would be accurate it might be slightly misleading. One piece was a long sleeve pull over henley and the other was a terrycloth bathing suit cover up or apres bath drying dress replete with velcro closure. We won't count the other two pieces which were my underwear or the hat and I forgot altogether to bring sunglasses in the fray of preparation.
Wardrobe ready, just the final touches required attention. I composed a path made of towels leading back to the house to dry my dog should he decide to join me. The right reading matter to set the mood, a summer back yard landscaping and entertaining magazine, seemed just right. A bottle of sun screen fit nicely in one built in cup holder of my floating lounge and a styrofoam cup of fresh brewed ice tea in the other. As for ultimate comfort and hair protectorant, I folded and nestled a bath sheet sized towel into the indentation designed to receive my head. Finally, as I boarded the vessel I held a cordless phone aloft to keep it dry at the expense of the magazine destined immediately to be soaked with water and the beverage which survived more or less as long as my magazine before pouring directly into the pool. These mishaps did not spoil my fun for even one minute; they were just information to stow away for next time as I aim to perfect this sybaritic psychosis. I wonder if the lapping water and the ambient temperature reduction effected by contact with all that water didn't feel better to me than it would have to those mindless swimmers who think nothing of striding poolside, amidst crowds of strangers, leaving their enveloping towels far away from the point where they will have to exit the pool. I wonder if I have what it takes to try this again tomorrow.