For many years, I hated pools. I don’t know if I hated pools, so much as I hated the small strips of clothing that society deemed appropriate to wear in them. I probably would have liked the actual pool — sparkling, cool, peaceful — if I could have worn a  comfy parka, or my Target sweatpants. But no, no, pools meant bathing suits, and bathing suits meant anxiety, and so on, and so on.

So far this summer, I have attended two pool parties, without too much anxiety, and I plan to attend more. Because it’s never too late to change your mind about enjoying life. But if you care to find out where my conflicted feelings about the pool began, you need look no further than the piece I wrote recently for D magazine about the University Park Pool, early puberty, sno-cones and making out.