My First Anti-Climax

I’m in the backyard and push open the wooden slat gate. The moment I step toward the side door, I spot it: a two-ring kiddie pool, one blue ring, one white ring, blown up so tight it looks like it’s about to detonate.

Instant anxiety. The pressure inside that pool feels like the pressure inside me. Something has to give.

I know exactly where two pairs of scissors are hiding: one in the kitchen drawer, one from my kindergarten supply box. I pick the kindergarten scissors because if this goes sideways, the punishment will probably sting a little less.

Cutting the pool is way harder than I expected. The vinyl is stretched tight, the scissors are dull, and I have to pinch the plastic just to get a grip. My heart is racing like I’m performing backyard surgery.

Finally, I manage to slice a small hole. I brace myself for a dramatic WOOSH of escaping air…
and instead get a tiny, pathetic phffft.

My very first anticlimax.