Swimming shorts and senility . . .

There's no doubting the fact that I'm starting to get quite old . . .
Physical and mental, the reminders are becoming rather too regular for comfort. Chief amongst these are the so-called senior moments that I've begun to experience on an increasingly-frequent basis.
The G calls these 'Daddy's Mistakes' and tends to find them quite amusing. The latest example of misplaced marbles, however, didn't leave her laughing.
On Mondays, we go swimming, just The G and I, the overly-officious receptionist at our local leisure centre having made it quite clear that she doesn't consider me competent enough to look after two children in the pool.
On this afternoon's evidence, she might, perhaps, have a point.
You see, having got The G changed and packed all her clothes away, I reached for my swimming shorts, only to realise that I'd brought The B's instead. Given that the size in the label is age two to three, they're a touch on the small side even for him. I did consider it for a moment, but there was no way on Earth that I was ever going to squeeze into them.
The G, her annoyance all too obvious, tried her hardest to persuade me to put them on and damn the consequences. I might be growing ever-more senile but even I retain enough of my faculties to realise that this could never be considered a good idea - hence our decision to go back and try all over again tomorrow . . .