Note: The events here related took place before the pandemic.
Stan, Stan, the Swimming Pool Man,
looks as good as anyone can.
One of the advantages of taking the kid to his swim lessons is his instructor.
Stan, Stan the Swimming Pool Man is as beautiful as a god. I swear, this guy could crack walnuts with his butt. At open swim on Saturdays, it's always kind of amusing to watch the old ladies lining up to flirt with him.
As Sokrates says, the contemplation of beauty is its own reward.
He also says: If you want to understand the gods, look at excellence.
Today's lesson is over. I'm having a profoundly theological moment, watching Stan's trunks mold to his muscular, athlete's butt as he climbs out of the pool.
Suddenly I have a problem.
The kid is standing there, dripping wet and waiting for me to come over and towel him off. Stan throws me a look, puzzled at the delay.
"Um, uh...I'll be...uh...right with you," I say, adjusting as unobtrusively as I can.
Above: Michelangelo Buonarotti, David (detail)