Water Park Wipeouts: The Day I Became a Naked Hero

One sunny day, my husband and I decided it was finally time to surprise our kids with a trip to the water park my daughter had been dreaming about. She’d dropped so many hints that even a magic eight ball could’ve guessed she wanted to go. So we packed our swimsuits, told the girls to grab their sunscreen, and set off on a mission. They spent the whole ride there guessing our destination with more excitement than Sherlock Holmes on a sugar high. By the time we pulled up to the gates, they were practically doing cartwheels.

We started with the wave pool and lazy river, where my husband and I floated like two pieces of forgotten driftwood while the girls squealed and splashed. But soon, my inner daredevil kicked in, and I announced that we were going to try every ride. My enthusiasm didn’t last long, though. When we got to the “Brain Drain” (a name that really should have been a clue), my husband and youngest immediately opted out. My stepdaughter Kara and I decided we’d take it on like the heroes we were—little did I know, this hero was about to get *humbled.*

We climbed to the top, and I was feeling pretty proud, right up until I saw the capsule setup. It was a clear, tiny, coffin-sized box with a trapdoor floor. You stand there, and it just drops you. At that point, it was too late to back out because I had to keep up appearances for Kara. So I stepped into the capsule, put my hands across my chest, and tried to look brave.

water slide

Then, I heard, “3… 2… 1…” and—POOF!—the floor vanished beneath me. I dropped like a sack of potatoes, screaming the whole way down. I must’ve set a new record for speed and volume as I rocketed through twists and turns at what felt like light speed. Finally, I saw a glimmer of daylight ahead. *Thank goodness, the end!*

I shot out of that slide into the pool like a human cannonball, legs spread wide in panic. The water welcomed me with the enthusiasm of a fire hydrant, and in that split second, I experienced what I can only describe as a “full cleanse.” Every part of me, from nose to toes, got a surprise rinse. I staggered out of the pool, feeling water trickling out of my ears, nose, and… other places. Let’s just say I’d discovered a whole new meaning to the word “refreshing.” But I wasn’t about to tell my family—nope, too proud for that.

Next up, the *artificial surf wave.* Picture a mountain stream going in reverse, like an angry river powered by a jet engine. It looked *so* easy as the instructor demonstrated, and I thought, *I’ve got this.* I watched the other beginners giving it a go, thinking, *Amateurs.*

So when it was my turn, I stepped confidently onto the surfboard. The instructor held my hands, explaining how to balance, and I gave him a quick, “Yeah, yeah, I’m ready.” Big mistake. The moment he let go, the water grabbed me like a dog with a chew toy and flung me forward. I went somersaulting through the air, my arms and legs flailing like an octopus in a washing machine.

When I finally came up for air, I realized my swimsuit had… *repositioned itself*. I was a hero, all right—a naked one. Standing there, I looked like a drowned, naked warrior facing the gawking crowd. Trying to save face, I nonchalantly adjusted my bikini top, pulled up my bikini bottom and strutted off the platform, my cheeks redder than my sunburn.

My family? Oh, they were so supportive. They barely managed to contain their laughter long enough to give me a round of applause as I high-fived strangers on my way down the steps. *Yep,* I thought, *mission accomplished.*