You lift the mask of shells off the wall. It hides little, just your eyes, and can be tied behind your head with just one string.
“Who’s going swimming?” the first woman asks with a cheerful clap.
“But I didn’t bring a suit –” you protest, as the second woman clucks.
“You should always be prepared for a pool party,” she says.
The third emerges from the back. “Luckily, we plan ahead –” she says, holding up a black two piece swimsuit with metal rings at the hips and the corners of the top. “Come on now, out of that robe.”
They descend on you and help you pull the swimsuit up and on, tying it perfectly around you. You don’t feel like you could swim a marathon, but it also doesn’t feel like it’s going to crawl up or fall off, which is pleasant.
“Is there anything else I should know?” The
