A memorable Christmas story.
About ten years ago, Gord and I visited his folks in St. Pete's, Florida. It was a dreary and chilly Christmas day, and we decided to take a walk while G's parents waited by the phone. The downtown streets were deserted, and in our jackets we headed to the ritzy Vinoy Hotel, bought and divided a NY Times, and strolled through the empty grounds. I was absorbed in the entertainment section, quite a few paces behind Gord, when I sank - literally. I had stepped over the edge of the pool and gone right down into the deep end of the water. Soaked NY Times in hand, I popped to the surface, emerged drenched but intact, and caught up to Gord who hadn't a clue about what had just taken place. A dripping me and a numb Gord retraced our steps, past the pool and gardens, through the hotel lobby, and out the front doors, where we caught a cab.
This is actually a favorite Christmas story because when I told it back home it elicited much mirth, but never from Gord. He appeared sombre over my close call in the deep end of the Vinoy pool on Christmas day.