Why Be A Mackerel When You Can Be A Mermaid?

In a sea full of mackerels, march to your own drum – be a mermaid.

By Patti Parish-Kaminski, Publisher

I suppose I’ve always marched to my own drum. I’m not certain it’s an overtly welcome trait amongst my people, but that’s just how I roll, and my tribe seems to have accepted it, or either I’ve worn them down. It’s made for some interesting choices throughout my life, particularly when it comes to fashion and decor, but I prefer to think of myself as wonderfully unique. That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.

So, when a wonderfully unique opportunity presented itself while in San Diego with my girls, I was all in. It came in the form of every girl’s dream of becoming the most mythical of creatures, a gorgeous goddess of the sea: a real live mermaid.

The transformation was a morning activity that began with a champagne toast because after all, becoming a real-life Ariel was indeed something worth celebrating. With a glass of bubbly down, we were set. Tails were selected, and the mystical transformation began. There was no music. There was no fairy dust. There was no spinning sea that instantly transformed us into magical merwomen. What happened was akin to a WWE match complete with writhing, sweating, swearing and heavy breathing attempting to squeeze 10 pounds of proverbial potatoes in a 5-pound bag. I saw spots. I nearly blacked out. I saw Jesus, twice, all before Lisa Ann and I finally got into the tail talisman from our toes to our torso. And that, my friends, was the easy part.

Merfish out of water: Lisa Ann and Patti spent after wrestling into their mertails.

Just by suiting up, we had worn out our instructor, Liz, who I’m certain was regretting showing up to work to deal with us full-grown Texas girls intent on being mermaids. Indeed, we were better suited to be Ursulas rather than Ariels, but there were no Ursula costumes to be had.

When we were able to breathe again, we slid our way into the pool to begin our life as a mermaid. I promptly sank. There were no trinkets and treasures galore at the bottom of the pool, and unlike Ariel, I couldn’t breathe under the water. So far, this being a mermaid thing was not working out very well. Liz gave me a noodle so I could survive and taught us how to use our core to move our fin to swim and stay alive. Once we got that down, the real fun began: Liz began giving us exercise routines. What? Unbeknownst to us, this mermaid thing was actually a pool aerobics class. It was about that time that sweet Liz figured out she was herding kittens because we were being mermaids swimming to our drum.

My abs – I didn’t even realize I had abs – have been sore for days because this being a mermaid thing wasn’t easy. Of course, I now see why Ariel wanted legs so badly. It’s a tough gig swimming with one fin all day. And sure, we girls could have taken it easy that beautiful, sunny California day. We could have stayed poolside, drank champagne and not been a mermaid. But do you think we would really give up being a mermaid even if it was only for a little while? Not a chance.

But for now, I’ve got to grab some Motrin and find my heating pad. See y’all next week – on the porch!

Patti Parish-Kaminski