Shall I compare thee...

The water was warm but already crowded by the time I got in. As I struck out for my first diagonal swim of the pool I was ‘cheered’ by the customary snatches of conversation I accidentally overheard.
‘Well, I went to see the doctor and he said…’
I quickly swam in the other direction. I didn’t want to hear what the doctor had said; though my new direction was also not a good choice.
‘Bert’s now fitted with a pacemaker,’ a white haired man was saying to his bald companion.
‘Is he now,’ his friend replied, as if they were describing the latest must have gadget.
I spun around and veered off into open water.
Some recognised me from the previous week and gave me a warm smile with their friendly, ‘Good mornings’ as they slowly and sedately swam perfect lengths.
‘Hello again!’
I had ebbed too close to 'Mr Cheerful' who I’d met the previous week.
‘Hello,’ I replied.
I was trapped by a convoy of slow-moving swimmers, there was no escape. I smiled.
‘Are you a cat woman?’ Mr Cheerful asked.
Bewildered I stared at him trying to make sense of his remark. Was he comparing me to some sort of super hero? A slinky thin feminine defender of justice, is that’s what Cat-Woman does? Or was he perhaps referring to my figure, which would be a surprise as my shape is more camel-like than cat-like.
My puzzled silence did not deter him. He no doubt assumed my confused look was due to deafness or senility, or a combination of both. He raised his voice, and this time enunciated the words very slowly and loudly.
‘Are … you … a … cat … woman?’
‘Oh,’ I said finally realising what he meant. ‘I like both cats and dogs, though I haven’t got either. I’m probably more hamster woman. What about you?’
‘I prefer cats.’ he said, ‘though mine have all died. Hamsters are nice.’
I nodded.
Open water called. I smiled and struck out again, swimming circles, diagonals, squares, trapeziums and the occasional rhombus, anything but lengths; as I treaded water Mr Cheerful suddenly appeared again by my side.
‘You’re like a…’ he was gasping for breath.
I had a moment to wonder what I could be compared to. Shakespeare spoke of a summer’s day and roses. Poets compare women to stars, the sun, flowers and rainbows. I waited for the final word as he coughed up a mouthful of water.

‘Tadpole!’ he finally spluttered.

‘Oh,’ I said.

I thought of: black tadpoles with their long tails and bulging heads; pond slime and slipperiness; cold wriggling bodies and tiny gaping mouths. Perhaps as compliments go this was not one of the best I’d ever been given.
‘Why?’ I asked perplexed.
‘Because I was watching you last week and you are just like a little tadpole flitting around the pool the way you do.’
‘Ah,’ I said swimming away as fast as my little tadpole legs could take me.
I borrowed a float from the life-guard and worked on my frog-like kicks.
‘You don’t need a float,’ someone sneered. ‘Use your arms like us.’
Heads nodded in agreement in the convoy behind him. My float was getting disapproving looks. I drifted into the shallow end and paused a while.
‘That’s what my friend used to do,’ another man said seeing me with the float. ‘He just worked on his legs. He was training for the Olympics. He could out-swim any of us.’
I passed the float onto his wife who was keen to try it for herself, and struck out again in my inimitable tadpole style for open water.
Who knows, perhaps I’ll be an Olympian before I croak.