"Swimming cap?" I asked my first grader. "Are you sure you need a swimming cap?"
"Yes," he said. "It's on the paper from my teacher. It says I need a swimming cap."
I could feel myself starting to get nervous. Really nervous. I have seen this movie before and I know how it ends. I leave my apartment happy as a lark with an easy task, and come home hours and hours later with something all together wrong.
"What is it, Mom?" my boys asked the other morning.
"Pastry," I said as I passed out the fluffy buns. "I went out this morning to buy treats."
"Mom," my son said after his first bite. "My pastry has meat in it. I think you discovered the Japanese hot pocket."
"Well, look at that," I said as I checked inside mine. "I guess we'll just put a little mustard on it and call it lunch."
"Swimming cap?" I asked the clerk. "Do you sell swimming caps here?" I had spent the morning searching several stores before I remembered that there was a Japanese school with a swimming pool near our apartment. Caps must be here.
"Swimming cap?" I said.
"Slippers," she said.
"Swimming cap?" I said.
"Slippers," she said.
"Swimming capo," I said. Then I pretended to put on a swimming cap and swim around the lobby. My front stroke is terrible.
"Slippers," the woman said again. This time she acted out too. She pointed to her feet which were in slippers. Then she pointed to mine which were still in my outdoor shoes.
"Ticket?" I said.
"Ticket," she said.
"Ticket?" I said.
"Ticket," she said.
It took about 20 minutes, but we were now downstairs in front of the swimming pool...and in our matching slippers. There was a vending machine at the door. Apparently, you need to buy a ticket to swim. I wasn't here to swim, I just wanted to buy a cap. How do you explain that? I thought of the few sentences I knew from Japanese class:
1. It's a rainy day out, isn't it?
2. It's a nice day out, isn't it?
3. Good afternoon. This is a pen.
I bought a ticket.
"Swimming cap!" I said enthusiastically. And, there it was! The woman had it behind her desk all along. It was beautiful. It was blue. It was waterproof. It was for an adult.
"Child cap," I said.
"Child cap?" she answered back.
"This is a cap for an adult," I tried to explain. "Do you have caps for children?"
40 minutes later I emerged from the school. I had spent money on a ticket for a pool with no intention to swim; I spent money on a cap for myself because I didn't know how to tell her I only needed a kid's cap; I spent more money on a kid cap; and I was able to leave the school despite the fact that the woman and her friend kept politely pointing me to the direction of the pool. Who could blame them? I was surely their best customer.
"Swimming cap," I said to my son proudly as I lay it on the dining room table. I was absolutely exhausted but very, very proud of myself. Kind of like a lioness bringing antelope back to the pride. "Feast on this."
"Hey, Mom," my fifth-grade son said. "I forgot to tell you, but I also have a paper from my teacher. I need something for music class."
"Oh yeah," I said as I slumped on the couch. "What do you need?"
"A recorder."
A recorder? A recorder? That's impossible to act it out. I'll have to sing instead. I wonder if they know the song "Hot Cross Buns" here.
"You better call your father," I said. "Tell him to bring home more money. This could be a very costly search."
P.S. By the way, Cherry Blossom (Sakura) season was beautiful here in Tokyo!! This a picture of my son and a visiting Flat Stanley at Yoyogi Koen. I thought it would be more interesting than my new swimming cap.
