Oops, I've Fallen

And frankly, I did not come to help my mom recover from an injury at her senior retirement village so that I could be initiated into a fucking geriatric gang.

Thankfully, on the other side of the massive pool, I spot a recently vacated row of chairs.

“Hey! Look! A few more chairs just opened up over there,” I exclaim, my voice chiming over the shit-talking as I point across the way.

A scowling Nan glances over her shoulder, following the direction of my finger, and the instant she sees what I’m seeing, the little biddy puts the ole scooter in reverse. “This isn’t over, Stella,” she mutters, and beep-beep-beep, her scooter chimes as she backs that sucker up.

“It never is with you,” my mom responds, but thankfully, Nan is too focused on getting over to those empty chairs to care.

Though, I don’t miss the fact that she flips us off over her shoulder as she goes.

“Mom, you think maybe you were a little hard on her?” I question once I ensure that my mother’s apparent archnemesis has, in fact, secured the empty chairs.

“Pshh. That old bat is always riding my ass.”

“Probably because you have such a nice fanny, Stell,” Sal comments, and it might as well be nails-on-a-chalkboard to my poor ears.

My mother giggles, and Sal winks at her.

“Well, darlin’, looks like they’re about to start the water aerobics class,” he says and stands up from his lounger to shove his navy Crocs off his feet. “You ready to get a little wet?”

“With you?” My mom flutters her eyelashes. “Always.”

And that’s my cue, folks.

Immediately, I tune out the two lovebirds by lying back on my lounger, slipping my earbuds into my ears, and turning on my favorite Spotify playlist that’s focused on chill, relaxing beats.

With calming music filling my ears, I look toward the pool to see that Nan is now in the water, and that old citation-serving bitch Betty is beside her. Together, they slowly wade toward a spot that’s right below where a middle-aged woman in a black one-piece with a whistle hanging around her neck kneels in front of a boombox on the concrete.

A woman I’m assuming is the instructor.

I glance to my mom to see if she realizes the class is about to start, but all thoughts fly out the window when she takes off her bathing suit cover-up to reveal a bright, neon-orange bikini that appears to be missing the part that’s supposed to cover her fucking ass.

“Mom! What are you doing?” I exclaim, sitting up like a rocket in my chair.

“What?” she questions, glancing around herself like there’s a bee or something. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” I retort, and my jaw goes unhinged. “Are you serious? What in the hell are you wearing right now?”

“Uh…” She scrunches up her nose and glances down at her body before meeting my disturbed gaze. “My bathing suit?”

“I can see that, but why is your ass flapping in the freaking breeze?”

She rolls her eyes. “Because my cheeks need some sun, Car.”

“And damn aren’t those cheeks of yours looking good, Stell.” Sal reaches out and pinches one of my mother’s “cheeks,” and I have to fight the urge to vomit.

“Slut!” a familiar voice shouts, and I look out toward the pool to see Betty pointing in my mom’s direction.

Oh, for fuck’s sake. Why is this happening?

“Don’t slut-shame me, you jealous whore!” my mom shouts back.

“Ladies.” The instructor holds out two hands, trying to keep things under control. “Let’s all calm down.”

“Calm down?” Betty yells. “How am I supposed to calm down when Stella is walking around dressed like a stripper from the Crazy Horse? She does this every time! It’s inappropriate!”

“Now, Betty,” the instructor continues. “Stella can wear whatever she likes to the pool.”

“That’s right!” my mom shouts. “It’s not my fault you don’t allow yourself to have that kind of confidence, Betty! If you were swimming with your ass out, I wouldn’t say anything but You go, girl!”

My mom isn’t exactly lying. I mean, if every woman had Stella Page’s confidence, the world would certainly be a better place to live. She’s just one of those people who lives her life for herself and doesn’t worry what anyone else has to say.

I’ve always admired that, to be honest. Doesn’t mean I want to actually see her confidence in the form of her ass cheeks in my face, but still.

“You’re such a liar, Stella!” Betty shouts back, and my mother doesn’t back down.

“You know what, Betty? I don’t care what you think! And you heard Carrie. I can wear whatever I want to the pool. If I want to swim with my tits out, I can do that!”

“Wait…no…” The instructor—who I’m now figuring out is named Carrie—tries to backtrack from her earlier comment. “Actually, Stella, you do need to have—”

“I’m not going to take this class if she’s taking it!” Betty cuts her off.