July 1, Part Two

But then sometimes you get to the pool and it's really fucking fun and everyone is nice to you. And when this happens you decide to take off your shirt and surreptitiously remove your belt, reasoning that if you're just going to sit in a lounge chair and watch the Brazil game anyway, you might as well project the image that you're ready for some spontaneous water-related shenanigans should the right person decide it's shenanigan time. And every once in a while, the afternoon gets long and the beers get short and no one has said anything about your pants or asked why there's a belt curled up on the floor and you decide your lingering fear of being silently ridiculed by overweight tourists for being pale and slope-shouldered and wearing oversized J-crew shorts and red boxers with penguins on them is just your overactive and understimulated imagination, which reassurance you've been telling yourself pretty much your entire adult life, and coming to this conclusion means it's finally okay to get up and walk to the bathroom.