Been Sucked Off Fixed — My Swimming Trunks Have

The realization that one must now remain submerged indefinitely or perform a "tactical crouch" toward the nearest towel.

We are the Un-Trunked. We meet in the shallow end. We keep our backs to the wall. And we have learned a vital lesson: Pride is temporary, but the memory of treading water in your birthday suit while your pants dance against a metal grille is forever. My Swimming Trunks Have Been Sucked Off

There is an odd democracy in being publicly stripped of pretense. It levels. People who noticed my misfortune offered a towel, gave a thumbs-up, handed over a spare pair of shorts like they were dealing cards in a friendly game. There was not cruelty without laughter, nor laughter without an immediate kindness. For a few minutes strangers became collaborators in restoring a small semblance of dignity. The realization that one must now remain submerged