I've always had problems with swim goggles; I just didn't seem to be able to find a pair that wouldn't leak. I tried goggles made specifically for women, goggles with special foam that's supposed to mold to your face shape, goggles with little eyes, goggles with big eyes... some were better than others, but all of them more or less sucked. I tried out a new pair this evening, and was delighted to discover that I had found a pair that didn't leak, not even a little. The brand? Speedo Juniors. Yup, I now wear kiddie goggles.

Some of the men who use that pool do silly things all the time. I'm guessing they do these things in an attempt to look strong, fast, and generally fuckworthy. Unfortunately, it doesn't work. The one that stands out most is when they stride purposefully out of the locker room, hop in the pool, and give me one of those "I'm gonna smoke you, so don't get in my way" looks. In the past, I've instantly hated any guy who gives me that kind of look, and I've seen it a lot over the years. As an adult, it has come most often from men who don't think women have any business taking up space in the weight room. In elementary school, it came from boys who complained when there were "too many girls" participating in a race or playing on their kickball team. In high school, it came from boys who hurled themselves across the volleyball court during PE in order to hit a ball that was coming directly to me. Or from the track coach who announced that no girls were signed up for the long jump in an upcoming meet and requested volunteers, but responded to my raised hand with, "You? I meant someone who could jump more than six feet." Nothing could have ensured my participation in the event more effectively: I would do the goddamn long jump, and whatever I lacked in talent, I'd make up for in spite. I don't even like the long jump, but I did the event that entire season. I refused to quit until I placed at districts and felt I had proved my point.

These looks I got had absolutely nothing to do with my performance, by the way. I intentionally chose examples of activities I either am or was pretty good at. It wouldn't annoy me nearly as much if someone didn't want to pass me the ball in a game of basketball, because the chances that I'd screw up the play are really quite high. I might still be annoyed, because the only situations in which I'll agree to play basketball are times when I'm with a group of people who get half-crocked and then decide to go to the park, and if you can't lighten up and pass to some incompetents in such a situation, then you shouldn't play basketball with motley groups of half-crocked people. However, I won't be infuriated. I won't want to crush you. I won't root spiritedly for anyone who can crush you if I can't get the job done myself. I won't want you humiliated, demoralized, preferably crying.

I really don't have many buttons, but clearly, this is one of them. I imagine most women have felt this way at one time or another, but I think it's perhaps a little more tempting for the men who do this sort of posturing to write off people who look like me: short even by short people's standards, with blonde hair, blue eyes, and a round face that pretty much no one finds threatening. I can walk onto a plane flying out of Las Vegas wearing a friggin' pirate hat without inspiring a single person to actually check my identification—and this was after September 11. Children and animals trust me. I wear kiddie goggles. All this is fine. Except for the airport part; they really dropped the ball on that one. None of this means you have permission not to take me seriously.

It doesn't bother me as much as it used to, though I'm sure that doesn't come across as the overall gist of this post. But it's true, mostly because so many of the people I see this attitude in no longer own condescension and prowess in a matching set. As a result, their displays are just kind of sad. I have a hard time getting worked up over someone who does such a top-notch job of making an ass of himself that I feel embarrassed on his behalf.

Which brings me back to those pool guys. So, there's the purposeful stride out of the locker room, hair still dry. Then, there's the hop into the pool and the "I will smoke you" look. Then, there's a flailing of the arms, a kick that leaves a frothy trail, and a whole lot of gusto. For about one length of the pool. They slow down considerably on the return, and after completing maybe four lengths, they pull themselves up the ladder onto deck, gasp for a bit, and head back to the locker room. It's like watching a long build-up to a magic trick when the rabbit that's supposed to come out of the hat is in plain sight under the table. There's no shame in getting tired—everyone does at some point—but I can think of few things I'd like to be less than a peacock without feathers.