Out of my depth at the swim-up pool

It is awkward, at best, to dramatically storm away from a swim-up bar. To ride away upon one's high-horse when you must first slide off a slippery stool. Righteous indignation is not best communicated when you are clumsily dog-paddling away.

Sigh.

I admit to perhaps being, a bit, naive going into this situation. When Sydney and I booked an all-inclusive, adults-only resort, we just thought we wouldn't have to deal with kids crowding our hot tub. We didn't know that, for some, "adults-only" means something else entirely.

We just thought we were making new friends.

On our first encounter (We got MUCH smarter after this experience), we met childhood buddies from Texas and Oregon who had spent the previous day in the noble pursuit of game fishing. They made casual references to their wives as we enjoyed the weather and the water. I watched as our bartender battled bees from his buffet of limes while monitoring the tide lines of our beverages. 

Without warning, Oregon declared his disbelief in a deity.

I waded in.

Surreptitiously, I texted my stalwart Christian support group:

Amy to group:  Hypothetical question:  Is a swim-up bar the ideal place to evangelize? And...discuss.

Allison:  Anything can happen at the swim-up bar!

Marissa:  I believe it is a perfectly acceptable place because many non-Christians view Christians as people who aren't allowed to have any fun or as prudes.  But if you can get to their level while shining His light then BOOM. You've got a success in the making! This is doing exactly what Jesus would have done. He could have stayed on His throne, all mighty, but no, He came down and became a dirt-poor homeless person to relate to us.

Katriel:  Amazing! (Not helpful at all)

Amy to group:  Amy Mosiman (downing a shot of tequila) listening to a skeevy predator telling me he doesn't believe in God. Amy slams down her shot, winks, and slurs, "No worries, baby, He believes in you."

I was briefly considering the ludicrousness of the sprinkling versus immersion debate as I would, if given the opportunity, transform this resort swim-up bar into a baptism pool for one of the Lord's lost lambs.

Silly...simple...stupid me.

What a naive nincompoop. 

I failed to recognize the wolf in a sheep's bathing suit.

Seated next to me, with Texas on her other side, Sydney slightly shifted so I glanced down the bar to where I thought Dallas was regaling my daughter with pictures of Marlin on his phone. The bartender and I exchanged glances as we both realized that there was something really fishy about what Texas was sharing.

Sydney's plan to subtly and discreetly remove us from this torrid situation was thwarted by my abruptly standing and loudly announcing that it was time to go. The bartender hid his smile while Texas laughed uncomfortably (HE was uncomfortable? Please.) and whispered to Sydney, "I hope we didn't offend your mother." She muttered something about my aversion to bees and followed me away from the bar. 

There was no graceful way to make my dramatic exit. Sloughing through the just over-knee-high water looked like I was battling a snow drift. High-stepping had me looking like I was lost from my marching band. Any type of swim maneuver would be misconstrued by those two idiots:  Breast stroke...Freestyle...Back stroke...Dog paddle. If ever was a time for me to be able to walk on water...

My head held high, I made it to the stairs and dared a glance back to glare at the men who had infringed on our innocent good time...They, of course, were nonplussed. It was funny to them and they would just move onto their next poolside prey. I was grateful for the small salute from the bartender as we left and grateful, too, for the valuable lesson. When one approaches a swim-up bar (which we avoided for the remainder of the trip), one must arm herself with environmental-friendly armor. First, of course, wear your goggles of godliness. Strap on the fins of fidelity. Put on your swim suit of self-control and self-respect. Don't forget your hat of humor...because once you've gotten over your initial shock of the immature audacity of idiots, you just have to laugh.