Nobody wants to be the only one in a hot tub. Not when that makes you the last one, at least. But everyone’s standing around, quietly looking to end a long night. So of course I perked up when one of my friends walked over, examined the tub for a long moment, and finally said:
“Maybe I’d get in if we take this thing off,” slapping the hot tub’s cover. I’d folded it over only halfway before getting in myself. Desperate, I stood up in the tub and tried to lift it off. It was a little heavy when I folded it over earlier, and from inside the water it seemed even heavier. Probably because I couldn’t get any leverage without slipping on the tub floor. After a second I murmured:
“Geez this thing’s kinda heavy,” to which my friend snapped:
“No it’s not, you’re just weak as hell.”
I felt his words in my stomach, like the one, inevitable hit in every play-fight that actually hurts a little. Why did I even say anything? I should’ve just kept my mouth shut and lifted harder. I probably would’ve gotten it after another second, too. It didn’t matter. My friend started lifting from outside the tub and together we uncovered it. I got the help I needed, but my feelings were hurt.
Worse, he didn’t even get in the hot tub once it was fully opened. He hesitated, then turned around to go inside and get ready to go home. I was left to get out of the tub (and replace the cover by myself), rushing inside, drying myself off and putting my shoes on so I wouldn’t be left behind.
On the drive home, his words sat heavily in my stomach, right next to the way-too-hot wings. In my head I wanted to prove he only insulted me because of some insecurity on his end, not because I’m actually weak.
‘Maybe his muscles are all he has to feel important, especially next to our other, more accomplished friends. Maybe he heard me talking about how I started lifting earlier, and he felt like he had to assert his strength over me. Yeah, I bet he’s jealous of me, that’s it.’
Or maybe friends can just be assholes sometimes.
[originally written 06/25]