Swimming Stereotypes

Ms. Perfect She's 5'10" and beautiful beyond belief for her age, which is almost impossible to guess. She's intelligent, articulate, and has a great career. She's a good swimmer and superb lane mate. A critical and deep thinker with a ready smile and a kind word of support for anyone who needs it. Everything about her is effortless and balanced and yet she is unaware of her own perfection. She could wear pig poop and make it an instant fashion must-have. She's informed on any topic that you care to name, but isn't obnoxious and can talk knowledgeably about world politics or science or baseball with equal ease. She has a wry smile that hints of a younger past that was less restrained than present and that she just might show to the right person. She can get out of the pool and somehow her hair is dry and perfect. She is also genetically immune to the "raccoon-eyes" goggle syndrome. She's so perfect that even the worst horn-dogs on the team don't hit on her and, as a result, she's no threat to the other women on the team and consequently they all consider her their best friend. Gradually, you get up the nerve to ask her out, but it's not going to happen because of one of the three next types listed.... The Turd Husband You find out that Ms. Perfect may be married to The Turd Husband. He's the guy who everyone prays won't be able to come to the team Cristmas party with Ms. Perfect. You know - the guy who always leaves his finperprints in the onion dip. He swam in high school, where he and Ms. Perfect were sweethearts (a classic case of buying at the right time). Now he won't go within a mile of a pool unless it's to go to her meets and complain what a waste of time swimming is to anyone who will listen. He'll complain to the lifeguard if no one else will listen. Despite that, he is the world's leading expert on all things swimming - from training to competition to the Olympics to which of the barely-legal women on the team looks best in a swim suit - he knows it all. Just ask him, he'll be all too glad to tell you. If he is at a meet, he is often reading a paperback with a name like "Biff Studmuffin: Lost Commando Patrol Leader #47" and he's read the first 46 in the series as well. He's not physically abusive, but treats the household appliances with more respect than he does Ms. Perfect. It's impossible to understand why Ms. Perfect stays with The Turd Husband, but maybe someday she'll tell him to hang his skidmarked underware off of someone's else night table knob. At this point, Ms. Perfect may find... The "Friend" Ms. Perfect may have a "Friend." You know that other woman who swims in Ms. Perfect's lane? The one who is nearly a Ms. Perfect herself, except for the fact that she has an absolutely biting, sarcastic sense of humor that she verbally castrates you with on a regular basis? Well, she and Ms. Perfect live together and it's not because of financial reasons. Think about it - wouldn't the two most perfect women in the world want the most perfect partners in the world? Of course they would. And since they are the most perfect creatures in God's creation, who better? Certainly not.... You At 5 AM you awake in your parents' converted basement to a self-produced burst of flatulance that raises the covers 12 inches and slingshots the cat halfway across the room. You have aspirated part of the pillow with your violent snoring. The non-aspirated part of the pillow has deep gouges in it from your 3 day old stubble, which is coarse enough to be used to clean a barbeque grill. In a panic, you realize that you'll barely have time to make swim practice and then hurry over to Burger World, where you are Lead Hash Brown Cooking Technologist. Stumbling towards the 4'X4' bathroom, you step on something unpleasant and realize that your cat is protesting you not scooping the cat litter for the last month. You try to remember where the litter box actually is, but decide that you can just follow the ammonia smell if you really need to find it some day. Left over pizza from last July 4th oozes off the top of a lampshade like a moldering stalagtite. In the bathroom you realize that the toilet is still clogged - It's the same thought you've had for the last 2 weeks at this time of the morning. You vow to get it later tonight. You also vow to eat more fiber so the clogging happens less often. Congratulating yourself on your resourcefulness, you pee in the sink, while humming "I Did It My Way". You wonder if all that hair on your back and in your ears was there the day before. Still hung over slightly, you slump against the sink with the grace of a deer that's taken a bullet to the gut. With foaming toothpaste running down your right arm, you face yourself for a moment of agonizing self-appraisal. This lasts for about 2 nanoseconds and then you go back to what you were originally thinking: "This is it! Today's the day! Today at practice, I'll ask Ms Perfect to go out with me! Today she gets the limitless benefits of my irresistable masculine attentions! God, won't the other women on the team be jealous!?!" -LBJ

Ms. Perfect She's 5'10" and beautiful beyond belief for her age, which is almost impossible to guess. She's intelligent, articulate, and has a great career. She's a good swimmer and superb lane mate. A critical and deep thinker with a ready smile and a kind word of support for anyone who needs it. Everything about her is effortless and balanced and yet she is unaware of her own perfection. She could wear pig poop and make it an instant fashion must-have. She's informed on any topic that you care to name, but isn't obnoxious and can talk knowledgeably about world politics or science or baseball with equal ease. She has a wry smile that hints of a younger past that was less restrained than present and that she just might show to the right person. She can get out of the pool and somehow her hair is dry and perfect. She is also genetically immune to the "raccoon-eyes" goggle syndrome. She's so perfect that even the worst horn-dogs on the team don't hit on her and, as a result, she's no threat to the other women on the team and consequently they all consider her their best friend. Gradually, you get up the nerve to ask her out, but it's not going to happen because of one of the three next types listed.... The Turd Husband You find out that Ms. Perfect may be married to The Turd Husband. He's the guy who everyone prays won't be able to come to the team Cristmas party with Ms. Perfect. You know - the guy who always leaves his finperprints in the onion dip. He swam in high school, where he and Ms. Perfect were sweethearts (a classic case of buying at the right time). Now he won't go within a mile of a pool unless it's to go to her meets and complain what a waste of time swimming is to anyone who will listen. He'll complain to the lifeguard if no one else will listen. Despite that, he is the world's leading expert on all things swimming - from training to competition to the Olympics to which of the barely-legal women on the team looks best in a swim suit - he knows it all. Just ask him, he'll be all too glad to tell you. If he is at a meet, he is often reading a paperback with a name like "Biff Studmuffin: Lost Commando Patrol Leader #47" and he's read the first 46 in the series as well. He's not physically abusive, but treats the household appliances with more respect than he does Ms. Perfect. It's impossible to understand why Ms. Perfect stays with The Turd Husband, but maybe someday she'll tell him to hang his skidmarked underware off of someone's else night table knob. At this point, Ms. Perfect may find... The "Friend" Ms. Perfect may have a "Friend." You know that other woman who swims in Ms. Perfect's lane? The one who is nearly a Ms. Perfect herself, except for the fact that she has an absolutely biting, sarcastic sense of humor that she verbally castrates you with on a regular basis? Well, she and Ms. Perfect live together and it's not because of financial reasons. Think about it - wouldn't the two most perfect women in the world want the most perfect partners in the world? Of course they would. And since they are the most perfect creatures in God's creation, who better? Certainly not.... You At 5 AM you awake in your parents' converted basement to a self-produced burst of flatulance that raises the covers 12 inches and slingshots the cat halfway across the room. You have aspirated part of the pillow with your violent snoring. The non-aspirated part of the pillow has deep gouges in it from your 3 day old stubble, which is coarse enough to be used to clean a barbeque grill. In a panic, you realize that you'll barely have time to make swim practice and then hurry over to Burger World, where you are Lead Hash Brown Cooking Technologist. Stumbling towards the 4'X4' bathroom, you step on something unpleasant and realize that your cat is protesting you not scooping the cat litter for the last month. You try to remember where the litter box actually is, but decide that you can just follow the ammonia smell if you really need to find it some day. Left over pizza from last July 4th oozes off the top of a lampshade like a moldering stalagtite. In the bathroom you realize that the toilet is still clogged - It's the same thought you've had for the last 2 weeks at this time of the morning. You vow to get it later tonight. You also vow to eat more fiber so the clogging happens less often. Congratulating yourself on your resourcefulness, you pee in the sink, while humming "I Did It My Way". You wonder if all that hair on your back and in your ears was there the day before. Still hung over slightly, you slump against the sink with the grace of a deer that's taken a bullet to the gut. With foaming toothpaste running down your right arm, you face yourself for a moment of agonizing self-appraisal. This lasts for about 2 nanoseconds and then you go back to what you were originally thinking: "This is it! Today's the day! Today at practice, I'll ask Ms Perfect to go out with me! Today she gets the limitless benefits of my irresistable masculine attentions! God, won't the other women on the team be jealous!?!" -LBJ