Water Aerobics Fail

Todays topic of discussion: I got a B+ in water aqua aerobics.


You, jury of the internet, can determine for yourself the grade that should've been merited based off my final essay.


Molly Martinez
Aqua Aerobics

Last spring break, Anita and I fasted for weeks, packed up our tankinis, and hopped on a plane Puerto Rico bound. Puerto Rico is an island, surrounded by water (they usually are), and chalk full of water sport enthusiasts. Upon arrival, one of the first things we did was head to the beach. Usually with girls our age, laying out on the sand getting over heated and premature onset melanoma is the most attractive aspect of the ubiquitous sandy sprawl, but for Anita and I, not entirely as prepared for tankini season as we had hoped, hit the water. First, we dove in a consensually splashed around. Then we played “duck or jump”, which is a game of wit, agility, and watching Anita get her wig knocked off by towering, percy-jackson-and-the -lightning-thief-son-of-zeus, but-you-don't-find-out-until-half-way-through-the-movie-because-the-whole-plot-is-based-off-his-new-found-god-like-powers forced waves.

After that game, Anita and I tried to no avail to flirt with the wake boarding boys, but failed miserably because we don't speak Puerto Rican, as well as the fact that we're really bad at flirting and not drowning at the same time. This all has a point, I assure you, because the wake boarding boys had hot bods, which is a result of water activity, so you too, can have dumpy tankini-clad drowning Americans be all up on your wake boarding tip.

Day two in Puerto Rico, my trusty side kick (which is also an aqua aerobics move) Anita and I went out on a boat, which was a convenient way to mask some boat riders “morning sickness” with “sea sickness”, but that is neither here nor there. We docked about a half a mile from shore, and decided it was in our best interest to swim to shore. Retrospectively, just because you can see it, doesn't mean you can sea it. That swim was far as hell. To make matters worse, about halfway to our destination, we got it in our heads that there was an over-crowded public school of hammer-head sharks, thirsty for the blood of novice swimmers gift wrapped in tankinis. That got our fins moving, and we made it to the shore in Michael Phelps time.

The moral of the story is, if it hadn't been for our natural aptitude in water, Anita and I would be surrounded by license plates, and tires, and that 13 year old surfers arm in the stomach of a shark. Thanks, Aqua Aerobics!