Swimming Lesson #6

Thursday comes, and with it another swimming lesson. Today was my second attempt to master breaststroke, and also my first attempt to explain to my swimming coach why I’d had 14 different swimming teachers, without using the phrase "ice cold pool of dilute juvenile piss". (My 14 different swimming teachers is a terrible lie my wife is spreading; it was 14 years of swimming lessons with an indeterminate number of unsympathetic swimming teachers whose pedagogical technique was uniformly comprised of yelling and blowing a whistle.)
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