Author Sharon Thompson

This week Moville writer Sharon Thompson shares another tale exploring the life of local women.

Each Sunday this series will showcase works of literature for readers to enjoy.

This tale tells the hilarious story of two women who decide to take up a new sport – only to realise that perhaps it isn’t for them.

Enjoy this morning’s story and share it with anyone who will relate.


‘Aqua-Zumba’ is filling up. Hetty hauls up her new swimming suit, ‘I shouldn’t have bought this red one, Mildred. It looks nothing like the one in the catalogue. The ICA ladies better not see me in this.’

‘It shows a good bit of cleavage all right,’ Mildred whispers, as the changing area is full of yummy mummies. ‘Is this crowd not a bit young for us pensioners?’

‘Nonsense we’re in our prime,’ Hetty says trying her damnedest to squeeze her grey curls into the swimming hat marked with the hotel logo. ‘They must’ve given me a child’s one?’

Mildred smiles as her cotton hat slides easily over her perm. She locks her cardigan and skirt away and hangs the locker key delicately around her petite wrist.

Hetty says, ‘hang back a while. I’ve no intention of being up the front of the class again.’

‘There’s no men in this class? Not after last time?’ Mildred asks. She can clearly remember Hetty’s predicament at beginner’s yoga. ‘I didn’t know that my leggings would rip.’

Mildred is not sure how to tell Hetty that the cut at the groin of her swimsuit is far from flattering. So, instead she remains her quiet self and totters after her life-long friend into the noise and warmth of the pool. Shimmering green the welcoming water laps up to the ladder at the shallow end.

‘This is bound to be more beneficial than yoga?’ Hetty says squinting up at her friend as she descends the ladder. ‘Water adds resistance.’

Mildred isn’t sure that Hetty’s protruding bosoms are resisting anything. The class are all up the other end and things have already kicked off with the high and dry, male instructor jumping madly to and fro at the side of the pool. The tightest pink t-shirt is stretched to capacity, over his arms and abdomen. He’s exceptional tanned.

‘Oh my,’ Mildred gasps, ‘it’s the yoga instructor fella.’

The instructor beckons the two ladies as best he can while panting and hollering instructions above the loud, blaring music.
Mildred taps Hetty’s arm. ‘This looks a bit much.’ Toned arms and skinny backs are all Mildred can see. ‘I know you haven’t your glasses on, but I can tell you that it’s far too much for us.’

‘I can hear it is. Let’s pretend we’re here for a swim.’

‘But I can’t swim,’ hisses Mildred, ‘and he’s beckoning us to join in.’

‘Ignore him. Splash about a bit; make it look convincing.’

Hetty starts an energetic breast stroke and Mildred does her best to copy her.

Hetty has done a few widths of the pool but then stops to see what looks like a hoard of children coming for lessons in the baby pool. Hetty squints to see Mildred is sitting on the ladder dangling her feet into the water. How right she is, thinks Hetty as she makes her way over to the shallow end.

Mildred waves madly, but Hetty is fixing her tight, wrinkled swimming hat.

‘Mam?’ Hetty hears from a life-guard to her right. ‘Mam if you don’t fix yourself you’ll have to leave the area. You’ll frighten the children.’

Aghast, Hetty looks downwards and there before her are her bosoms floating free.

Sharon is the co-founder of #WritersWise a trending, writers’ tweet-chat (

Find Sharon @sharontwriter and /