[ Transcribed from a journal entry written on a piece of napkin. ]
The Orchha Resort is kind of like an oasis in the middle of a very humid, hot India. Okay, well, actually none of this is true excluding the "resort" part. After breakfast Bridget and I made our way to the lovely swimming pool just to see what it was like. I noticed one thing immediate thing about the pool - it was green. I voiced my disapproval. I bent down to dip my hand into the cool and refreshing surface of the oasis swimming pool. But it wasn't cool and refreshing - it was nice and warm, and green. I gave a second voice of disapproval. Along the edge, where there's grass and lounge chairs, a pale pasty tourist is leisurely reading his book. I stood up at the pool's edge with my hands on my hips trying to show further disapproval of this whole warm, green swimming pool setup. Bridget, being the charming and gregarious kiwi that she is, asks, "How's the pool?"
In a sudden and shocking moment, with a loud snap and a shattering and crumbling of brittle fragile pieces, I am disoriented, briefly. I realized, somehow, my lower leg was totally wet and dirty. My foot had broken into the water filter ducts at the pool's edge, before the edge meets the grass. Bridget is too kind and generous and sincere as she made sure I wasn't hurt. Then she laughs uncontrollably. The pale, pasty tourist shakes his head with involuntary chuckling, as if he's shaking his head in disbelief.
I took my foot out thinking if I need to reduce what I'm eating.
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