We once had an insurance agent that had an office in La Jolla who invited Daisy and me to meet him half-way at an athletic club in Sorrento Valley, in NW San Diego one Saturday afternoon for a game of racquetball. We came dressed to play and carried along clothes and shoes suitable for dining at a nice restaurant, afterwards.
The club was quiet and we played long and hard for an hour, or so and then going to the front desk to get towels for our showers, we were advised that the facility’s water heater had gone down and it would be a couple of hours until hot water would be available. We were all soaked with perspiration, so we had little choice but to “take a cold shower.” That didn’t pose much of a challenge for me and the other two gentlemen with whom we had been playing and we went in and confronted the 40 degree water, jumping in and out, soaping and rinsing, etc., until we were dressed and ready to go.
We went back to the front desk to check out and apparently Daisy hadn’t been quite as aggressive as we were and was just now getting into the shower. Suddenly, a horror movie quality scream emerged from the women’s locker room. A few seconds passed and then another. For five long minutes everyone in the club listened to what sounded like a woman being tortured, as Daisy showered and washed her hair in the near freezing water, screaming at the top of her lungs every time she entered the water.
When she was dressed and coiffed, she came out with a big smile and said, “That was the coldest water I’ve ever showered in; I hope no one heard me scream; I was holding it down as much as I could.”
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