The Idiot's Guide to Accidental Swimming

If there's one thing I learned in Scotland, it is this: I have no skills. Scotland is the land of intense and bizarre skills that I had a) never heard of before the trip and b) don't have a prayer of attaining at any point in the future.

Take, for example, the gentleman at the left. At first you may think, "this man's skill is looking awesome." And while he is clearly rocking his muscle shirt and kilt ensemble (because when you look like you eat raw puma meat for breakfast, you can wear whatever the f@&# you want), please direct your attention to what's in his hand. It's a big metal thing that weighs [mumble]billion pounds, which he flung across a field after spinning around a few times like a big, bearded ballerina. It was seriously impressive. This man later went on to throw a medley of objects across the field, including a big rock, a giant log, and something that looked like a anvil on a stick. I, conversely, couldn't arm wrestle a squirrel. Puma-eating-ballerina: 1; Lani: 0.

For exhibit two, I submit the preschoolers in the photos to the right. First, I have to congratulate them on their sock choice. I totally want a pair. But more importantly, take a look at how they're all moving in sync with each other. Have you ever seen little kids do that? I babysat in high school. I've worked in a preschool. Usually when little kids are corralled together with music on, about half of them do a weird squat-stand-squat-stand dance with their arms up, and the other half mills around aimlessly like the ghosts in Pacman. These kids moved in perfect timing, gracefully hopping up and down like tiny, plaid-covered kangaroos.

But the mini-highlander to the left really took it to the next level. First of all, she looks like something out of The Matrix. (Seriously, compare her to this picture. Uncanny.) Secondly, did you notice what she's jumping over? That's right, she's leaping over swords. The four year-old is leaping over swords. When I was four years-old, I tripped over my own feet so much that my parents were actually concerned that I had a neurological problem. This girl, on the other hand, is a fairly competent ninja. Tiny ninjas: 1. Lani: 0.

It's not really surprising, though, that I don't have those skills. Unfortunately, however, Scotland also taught me that I'm lacking skills I really thought I had. Like knowing how to read. Or more specifically, pronouncing the letters I read. How do you say Druim na Droichaid exactly? Yeah, no idea. Driving is another example. I thought I knew how to drive. But then the steering wheel moved to the other side, and I had to drive on the left, and there were 8,000 roundabouts, and before I knew it, I had smashed the side-view mirror on a gate. Thank god for the "peace of mind" insurance package.

But I was still pretty sure I possessed the ability to decide for myself when to go for a swim. Not so. Nothing could have made me voluntarily go for an open-water swim in chilly, drizzly Scotland. I'd have been even less likely to go for said swim in my jeans, shoes, and shirt, while carrying my camera. Did I end up going for such a swim? Yes, I did. Where? In Loch Ness. Thanks to a horse named Moss. We had made it about halfway through our lake crossing when Moss stopped. He turned to the side, with that unmistakeable horse facial expression that says, "I'm freaking out, man!" Then he tried to launch into orbit, flinging me sideways into Loch Ness, much like what the puma-eating ballerina did to the big rock.

So here's my advice should you unexpectedly find yourself swimming in Loch Ness.
1) Enjoy the moment! You're in Loch Ness! I mean, if you had to fall into any lake, this one makes for the best story.
2) When walking out, try to move fast. That mud has some sucking power.
3) Start laughing. That way you can join right in with your companions on shore, who are by this point doubled over and red in the face.

So what did I do when I finally got to dry land? I pet Moss and slung myself into the saddle. I have realized after all this that I do have one skill. I may not be able to keep myself on the horse, but I'm pretty good at getting back on. And for the Disaster with a Passport, that's a useful skill to have.

Me, having just crawled out of Loch Ness.

Me, back on the horse post-swim



















And just to provide a more equitable comparison with the little highland dancers, here's a picture of me at age five, showing off the proudest accomplishment of my life to that point: losing my first tooth. And I didn't really lose it. It wouldn't fall out on its own, so the dentist had to pull it out. Yeah . . . they win.