hot tub gossip

I was sitting in the hot tub last night at Vesturbæjarlaug, listening to some college-age girls gossiping about their male friend who has apparently had a girlfriend since November, but wasn't saying much about it. For half of the girls this news was old hat, but for the other half it was new and interesting. The out-of-the-loop girls were pumping the others for information.

"I saw him at a party in January, and he didn't say anything."

"Well, you have to fish it out of him," said the jolliest of the girls, making a pulling-fish-out-of-water motion that used the hot tub water surface convincingly. (She taught me a new expression too: "Ég veiddi upp..." "I fished it out...")

Apparently something about this guy made him seem unlikely to be girlfriended. But from the tone, I took that he was one of those guys who some of the girls secretly liked, but was maybe too "weird" for them to consider dating with their early-20s worldview. Interested, but looking nonchalant, I was listening for more details, and ... WHAM!

A soccer ball travelling top speed came flying out of the swimming pool and hit me in the side of the head. It must have made a loud noise for everyone else too, because the whole crowd turned to look. It scared the hell out of me, and in moments like that one tends to forget about blending in. "Christ!" I yelled and jumped up, throwing the ball as hard as I could back into the pool, somehow hoping I would hit the thrower on the head in a kind of "sömuleiðis". But the ball skittered across the dark pool surface instead.

"Allt í lagi?" asked the girl across from me, genuinely concerned.

"Já, allt í lagi," I said. They went back to discussing Mr. Off-the-Market and I headed for the steam room.