Better to date or marry a swimmer or not?

All things being equal, I would rather have a romance with a swimmer than a non-swimmer. There's something about being in water beside a lithely muscled naiad; the occasional "accidental" slap of her pectoral fin as you pass by circle swimming;the wet hair and dazzling aquamarine eyes reflecting the sun bolts in the water; the refreshing, eminently clean, sacredness of it all. But if things go sour, you will have to find another pool, and give up your friends for a while, and try not to think too much about the last lines of the Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock: I grow old … I grow old … I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled. Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach? I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach. I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each. I do not think that they will sing to me. I have seen them riding seaward on the waves Combing the white hair of the waves blown back When the wind blows the water white and black. We have lingered in the chambers of the sea By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

All things being equal, I would rather have a romance with a swimmer than a non-swimmer. There's something about being in water beside a lithely muscled naiad; the occasional "accidental" slap of her pectoral fin as you pass by circle swimming;the wet hair and dazzling aquamarine eyes reflecting the sun bolts in the water; the refreshing, eminently clean, sacredness of it all. But if things go sour, you will have to find another pool, and give up your friends for a while, and try not to think too much about the last lines of the Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock: I grow old … I grow old … I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled. Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach? I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach. I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each. I do not think that they will sing to me. I have seen them riding seaward on the waves Combing the white hair of the waves blown back When the wind blows the water white and black. We have lingered in the chambers of the sea By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown Till human voices wake us, and we drown.