Even though we hired the landlord (who I'm going to call "Lars" from now on) to do the yard work once a week, he's been dropping by every other day. He comes to look after the pool...which he's trying to revive after going to Thailand last summer, turning off the pumps and the skimmers, and otherwise letting it go. We've sort of been suggesting that maybe he needed to get the "real" pool guy back with some sort of vacuum, since it doesn't seem to be responding to the constant dump of chemicals he's throwing into it anymore. But he says that would cost "many money".
If it weren't for the grit on the bottom and the nice skim of rusty brown along the sides, it would be perfect. The water itself is crystal clear....makes it so much better to see the bottom and the treasures that lurk therein....like money. There are coins down there.....and bits of left over lilac petals....and the rusty brown grit.
Two days ago it was sunny and gorgeous, and Lars showed up to dump some more chemicals into the water. For some reason, the water level had been dropping, hourly, all day. Lars did his chemical thing and mentioned that he would be back tomorrow to scrub the pool. He said the water temperature, at 18C, was warm enough for him to get in it.....sure buddy, it's positively toasty....especially with the air temperature pushing 14C and all....but.... I wasn't going to argue with him because it's taken him about two weeks to come to the conclusion that the damn thing just needed a little elbow grease. I'm going to say it's a language thing why he didn't get that way back when....but hell, he's buying the chemicals.
Anyway, I went back to Google translating the electric bill and my coffee (the new brew maker is lovely). A few minutes later, Lars knocks on the patio door and tells me, since the water level in the pool is down, he thinks it's a good idea to go into the water and scrub the pool right then. He says it won't be as far over his head in the deep end and did I "have something".....long pause as he searches for the word.....which is "towel".
To which I responded, as I mentally, rifled through John's wardrobe to see what I could give him to change into....."Yes, I have one." Literally, I had one clean towel.
"But you're going to be soaked," I told him.
"No," he shrugged, "I'll go in underwear...same as swimming."
I didn't stick around to see if that meant trunks or Speedo. I went back to Google translating the electric bill and my cooling coffee for which I now need a shot of Bailey's (or two).....wondering how my life got so bizarre all of a sudden. My landlord is out in my swimming pool in his underwear. There has to be enough chlorine in that pool to turn whatever it is he's wearing water-shear white....if it doesn't eat holes in it. What if I run out of bills to translate? What if my husband comes home and finds out I now have a bona fide pool boy?
Will somebody, please, pass me a margarita......and the lotion?
If it weren't for the grit on the bottom and the nice skim of rusty brown along the sides, it would be perfect. The water itself is crystal clear....makes it so much better to see the bottom and the treasures that lurk therein....like money. There are coins down there.....and bits of left over lilac petals....and the rusty brown grit.
Two days ago it was sunny and gorgeous, and Lars showed up to dump some more chemicals into the water. For some reason, the water level had been dropping, hourly, all day. Lars did his chemical thing and mentioned that he would be back tomorrow to scrub the pool. He said the water temperature, at 18C, was warm enough for him to get in it.....sure buddy, it's positively toasty....especially with the air temperature pushing 14C and all....but.... I wasn't going to argue with him because it's taken him about two weeks to come to the conclusion that the damn thing just needed a little elbow grease. I'm going to say it's a language thing why he didn't get that way back when....but hell, he's buying the chemicals.
Anyway, I went back to Google translating the electric bill and my coffee (the new brew maker is lovely). A few minutes later, Lars knocks on the patio door and tells me, since the water level in the pool is down, he thinks it's a good idea to go into the water and scrub the pool right then. He says it won't be as far over his head in the deep end and did I "have something".....long pause as he searches for the word.....which is "towel".
To which I responded, as I mentally, rifled through John's wardrobe to see what I could give him to change into....."Yes, I have one." Literally, I had one clean towel.
"But you're going to be soaked," I told him.
"No," he shrugged, "I'll go in underwear...same as swimming."
I didn't stick around to see if that meant trunks or Speedo. I went back to Google translating the electric bill and my cooling coffee for which I now need a shot of Bailey's (or two).....wondering how my life got so bizarre all of a sudden. My landlord is out in my swimming pool in his underwear. There has to be enough chlorine in that pool to turn whatever it is he's wearing water-shear white....if it doesn't eat holes in it. What if I run out of bills to translate? What if my husband comes home and finds out I now have a bona fide pool boy?
Will somebody, please, pass me a margarita......and the lotion?
1 comment:
Ha! I'm really enjoying reading this Karen! I cannot believe how anal they are about the language classes. Geesh!
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