The girls started another round of lessons and were all nerves for the duration of the drive there.

They didn’t worry about their own skill level, the direction or curriculum of the course, whether the water would be freezing or if the showers would work. Drowning wasn’t top of mind, nor was their mother’s constant forgetfulness when it came to their conditioner, towels and a quarter for the locker.

They had one thing and one thing only on their minds. Would they be stuck with a male instructor and further, would he have a moustache?

It is funny that these two deal breaking factors could melt my two daughters into puddles of their own tears upon arrival at the pool. In fairness, all pedophiles would be doing themselves a great service if they shaved their moustaches so I guess I understand the creepiness of that one.

My seven year olds’ class started first. I saw a number of young, female instructors enter the pool deck area and crossed my legs that the ratio of female/male instructors hadn’t exhausted itself and there would be one female remaining behind the off-limits, glass, guard room to teach her class.

Out he came, clipboard in hand, approximately sixteen years old, squeaky voice, “Level 6 over here,” with a full moustache. Wow.

When I thought things couldn’t be any worse for our four year old, out walked her teacher. What could be worse than a male instructor with a moustache? How about two, with full beards?

Ellie handled it like a champ but it didn’t help that the only two other kids in her class were boys. That is, until a woman wearing a full burqa accompanied her daughter over to the class in progress, leaned into the bearded boys to explain why they were tardy while her daughter jumped into the pool wearing jeans and a long-sleeved shirt.

Where am I?