It’s the middle of summer, it’s hotter than the surface of the sun itself here in Florida, and here I am afraid to step foot in the water for fear of being gobbled up or snarfed down or at the very least, nibbled to an uncertain death by nefarious creatures in search of an easy meal. Well, I guess I can admit that I’m still technically facing those fears and stepping foot in said water, otherwise they’d revoke my Florida Resident’s card and send me packing back to Michigan where outdoor pools are more of a burden than a luxury, but I certainly do a bit more to watch my back this time of year, and let me tell you that this alone isn’t exactly the easiest of tasks when I’m constantly fighting against these darned water wings all the time!

Yeah, that’s right – I said pool. Don’t judge me, at least not until you’ve heard my entire predicament…

I guess by now it’s not exactly any secret that I’ve got what some might call issues when it comes to self-contained aquatic recreational areas, as I first aired a bit of dirty laundry last fall expressing my concerns for pools that are either empty or otherwise under some sort of refurbishment. And I know it was the kind of thing that sounded, well, a bit silly to a select few highly insensitive meanie-heads out there, but hey – Free Willy was a sad movie, what else can I say?! But we’re not hear to revisit those nightmares, mind you, for I thought our time might better be spent here working through an entirely different oddball, pool-based fear of mine – that in which I find myself wondering if there’s any possibility that some sort of diabolical madman may have placed piranhas in my local swimming pool.

It’s usually after I’ve been in the water for a ten or fifteen minutes and started to really relax, and it might help to add that it’s almost always nighttime by the time that I finally make it down to the pool, but sometimes I’ll be floating there alone, looking up at the star-filled sky, and then my mind starts to wander back to the days of James Bond and all of the appropriate knock-offs where our strapping, young hero would find himself dangling for his life over a pool filled with ravenous sharks circling hungrily below. Sure, there weren’t any such beasts circling the pool when I first walked in – I try not to hit the cocktails under after I’ve submersed, so I like to think that I would’ve noticed something like that – but I don’t have eyes in the back of my head and I certainly don’t have any on the bottoms of my feet, so maybe it wouldn’t be all that hard to release a few hungry chompers into the water as I float there unknowingly in the pale moonlight – who knows???

The way I’ve always pictured it going down would be by releasing whatever’s going to eat me into the pool through the vents on the sides – I’m not exactly sure how something as large as a shark would fit through one of those, but I guess I’ll have plenty of time to ponder that little mystery while I’m being eaten to death! Or even an alligator, and hey, living here in Florida, that one wouldn’t even be all that far-fetched! I’ve never seen the situation in person myself, but I’ve certainly heard the stories and seen the pictures where the family randomly finds a new occupant in their pool out back only moments before diving in themselves. And granted, these are wild gators, not some sort of mutated reptiles driven to a frenzied thirst for blood by their maniacal leaders, but still – if it’s so easy for the normal variety, then maybe a visit from their genetically-altered brethren isn’t so out of the question, anyways…

I should probably mention that this little obsessive paranoia of mine isn’t simply limited to pools, either – it also encompasses hot tubs, Jacuzzis, and wading pools – pretty much anything except open water. I know – weird, isn’t it?! The one place that legitimately does pose the threat of my toes getting nibbled on doesn’t phase me in the least, and yet dunk me in a container of highly-chlorinated liquid sunshine and it’s a whole ‘nother story! No problems with the beach, as proven by my unwavering devotion to watch the movie Jaws or any of the sequels no matter what time of day they come on TV, no problems even with pool parties, as at least in those situations I’m in the water with other people and thus I guess I feel that I’ve got some chance of survival considering that the deadly carnivores have options for their first victims – so feel free to invite away!

Just like my last aquatic column where I opened up and shared one of those less-than-flattering traits about myself, I’m sure that a few folks out there will get a good chuckle out of my plights, but I want you to know that I didn’t write this column for them. Nope, I wrote this column for those other people out there just like me – for those ruggedly handsome, hilarious guys who are great in bed and have nice, long lives ahead of themselves, whose only flaws are that they find themselves a bit cautious about stepping foot in those seemingly controlled waters where terror lurks below the bubblers. For you are not alone, my friends, and while everyone else is having a grand time playing Marco Polo, they don’t even know it, but they can enjoy their game in peace because we’ll be keeping our eyes on the grates and filter openings for everyone.

We may tread water with a bit of fear in our hearts, but as long as our watchful cowardice is around, you’ll never have to worry about not hearing that loyal reply of “Polo!” after every “Marco!” Well, at least until the first sighting, but once we’ve shrieked out in terror, we’ll be high-tailing it out of there, shouting “I told you so…” all the way to the rinsing station and beyond…