What Ho!
The trouble is that you don't actually swim on boat race night. Actually you don't boat, either. In fact, the main attraction to the whole affair is principally in the aftermath of the race, which is primarily devoted to the consumption of liquids and the odd acquistion of policeman's helmets. Laudable activities, true, but not ones that lend themselves to actually learning to swim.
Speaking of liquid consumption, you take in a mouthful as you flail about in a half remembered attempt at a breaststroke.
"Glub!" you exclaim, sinking further into the watery depths.
"Petey!" yells Cuddy, who dives in after you, collaring you about the neck.
"D--- it Petey, this water is only shoulder deep on me," she says crossly. "Why didn't you just stand up?"
Your witty retort is silenced by the necessity of coughing up a few gallons of pondwater.
Cruelly making sport of you in your hour of distress, Cuddy starts her giggling again. The two of you trudge to the beach. You grab her about the midsection and lift her up to shore.
"AHA!" cries the inconvienently appearing Fatty. "I leave you for but a moment, and I find you in the arms of the nearest rakehell! I should have known that you two were conspiring to oust me from the way Postletwaite was having sport of me in there."
"What ho, Fatty" you say, waving from the watery depths.
"Oh yeah?" ripostes the infernal Cuddy. "Petey is a real gentleman, one who knows how to treat a girl right."
"Oh yeah?" Fatty isn't always good at the dialectic "Maybe there's some women who know how to treat a man, who care about HIS needs and also know how to make a decent cup of tea, not to mention breakfast pastry!"
"Oh, it's back to your stomach again, huh? Well I wish whoever the girl is good luck, 'cause your food bill would bankrupt Rockerfeller himself!"
"Fine! I'm off!"
"Good riddance, you big lug! Petey and I will be happy together!" she sticks out her tongue.
You clear your throat "Um, Cuddy, actually, I wanted to tell you....."
"Stuff it sweety, we'll tell Daddy about our engagement tomorrow."
You swallow manfully. There's a code of honour about these things, after all. Cuddy may be a wretched, troublemaking shrimp, but she is a lady. And to back down from an engagement is trifling with a lady's affections, and won't do, not for a Postletwaite. Sadly, you realize that you are now truly doomed. But there's nothing to be done, really.
Fighting back bitter tears of remorse, you
Speaking of liquid consumption, you take in a mouthful as you flail about in a half remembered attempt at a breaststroke.
"Glub!" you exclaim, sinking further into the watery depths.
"Petey!" yells Cuddy, who dives in after you, collaring you about the neck.
"D--- it Petey, this water is only shoulder deep on me," she says crossly. "Why didn't you just stand up?"
Your witty retort is silenced by the necessity of coughing up a few gallons of pondwater.
Cruelly making sport of you in your hour of distress, Cuddy starts her giggling again. The two of you trudge to the beach. You grab her about the midsection and lift her up to shore.
"AHA!" cries the inconvienently appearing Fatty. "I leave you for but a moment, and I find you in the arms of the nearest rakehell! I should have known that you two were conspiring to oust me from the way Postletwaite was having sport of me in there."
"What ho, Fatty" you say, waving from the watery depths.
"Oh yeah?" ripostes the infernal Cuddy. "Petey is a real gentleman, one who knows how to treat a girl right."
"Oh yeah?" Fatty isn't always good at the dialectic "Maybe there's some women who know how to treat a man, who care about HIS needs and also know how to make a decent cup of tea, not to mention breakfast pastry!"
"Oh, it's back to your stomach again, huh? Well I wish whoever the girl is good luck, 'cause your food bill would bankrupt Rockerfeller himself!"
"Fine! I'm off!"
"Good riddance, you big lug! Petey and I will be happy together!" she sticks out her tongue.
You clear your throat "Um, Cuddy, actually, I wanted to tell you....."
"Stuff it sweety, we'll tell Daddy about our engagement tomorrow."
You swallow manfully. There's a code of honour about these things, after all. Cuddy may be a wretched, troublemaking shrimp, but she is a lady. And to back down from an engagement is trifling with a lady's affections, and won't do, not for a Postletwaite. Sadly, you realize that you are now truly doomed. But there's nothing to be done, really.
Fighting back bitter tears of remorse, you