Joe and I, and our lovely wives, had an unusual experience during our trip to Washington. We took the Metro over to Union Station in order to catch the Tourmobile that’d drag us past all the usual tourist stops along the Mall and out at Arlington. Because of construction on Arlington Bridge, we ended up waiting 40 minutes in the sun on a sweltering day instead of the promised maximum of 20 (we gave up and got our money back, but that’s another story).

While waiting in line, we were treated to a surreal show. A rather large woman living a bohemian lifestyle decided she’d had enough of the heat (or possibly her own b.o.) and that the best place to cool down (or rinse the stink off) was one of the fountains in front of the station. Right there by all the traffic, cabs, commuters, and tourists, she made unconventional use of the water.

Walking up to the fountain, she began by emptying various bits of scrap paper out of the pockets of her pants. Into the fountain. Then, oddly, she removed her belt and tossed it in as well. It was at this point that we all considered donning welding goggles in advance of her disrobing.

Luckily, she kept her clothes on, for the most part. She leaned over and started splashing water on her armpits and over her head. This wasn’t effective enough for her, so she went ahead and climbed in.

She kind of wallowed around for five or ten minutes in there. By this time, the majority of us Tourmobile waiters were staring in dumbfounded silence. She eventually stood up and fished her belt off the bottom of the pool and threw it up on the pedestal that held the urn above her head.

By this time Joe had had enough of the heat and enough of shooting photos of her (oh yeah…photo credits: Joe), so he wandered off to find shade and take pictures of a dragonfly that was buzzing him. Because of his lack of commitment, we sadly have no pictures of her unbuttoning her pants, turning at about a 60° angle away from us, and mooning someone standing over by the Postal Museum.

The girls and I do, however, have mental images of the side view of her cottage cheese ass to keep us company at night.

Note: On the infinitesimal chance anyone’s still waiting for an accounting of our racing day at Nelson’s Ledges: I’ve posted a few pictures of the experience on my Flickr account.

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