There are probably a lot of things in life more unpleasant than putting on a wet swimsuit, but if there are, I can't think of any. Nor do I want to.

So when I found myself in that situation, I did what many adults do when confronted with having to do something mildly unpleasant — I whined and complained, then did it anyway. I'd be tempted to say that I was worse than a kid about it, but that wouldn't be a fair thing to say about kids. Unlike adults, kids don't generally complain about having fun.

They might complain about not being allowed to have the kind of fun that typically results in death or dismemberment, but they don't generally complain about having to do fun things. Or at least, I didn't.

As a kid, I was thrilled to get up at daybreak and pull on a cold, wet swimsuit. I couldn't wait to spend the day in the lake, swimming, jumping off the pier or floating on an inner tube.

A day spent in the swimming pool was like a day in heaven.

Eating hamburgers and shoestring potatoes with still-damp, shriveled up fingers — the fragrance of Coppertone and chlorine — falling asleep exhausted from a day of swimming and splashing, only to wake up and do it all again — who could find anything to complain about that?

I could.

I could start with the swimsuit. As a kid, I didn't really care what kind of swimsuit I wore, as long as it didn't match my little sister's.

As a grown-up, however, I care very much. I care because I am older, wiser and more mature, in many ways — none of which I care to go into at the moment.

Plus, as an adult, I've got many more options to consider when buying a swimsuit. I've got to consider whether it suits my figure (apple, triangle or pear). I've got to consider whether I need a suit that flatters, enhances or reduces. I've got to consider whether I actually intend to swim in the suit, or do I intend to just lounge around in it, waiting to be discovered by a Hollywood agent or rousted by a vice cop?

I've identified my figure as a rectangle with apple tendencies, reduction and flattery required, enhancement, N/A. I generally look for the "Miracle Suit" brand.

And if by some miracle, I do find a suit, there's still a lot of preparation to be made before making a public appearance. Time-consuming, expensive, messy and sometimes, painful, preparation.

The 10-year-old me never had to spend one minute considering shaving versus waxing — or shaving, period.

I never once pondered the effect chlorine would have on my hair or the sun would have on my skin.

I'd never even heard of an SPF, let alone worried about whether I needed 15, 30 or 45 of them.

I never had to wonder whether I needed oil, lotion or spray, regular or dry oil, sport or regular. I never had to wonder whether I should get a fake tan.

All I had to do was get out of the pool or lake when my mother said it was time for lunch, or for more lotion. Then when I'd complain about having a pause in the fun, or that she was getting suntan lotion in my eyes, she'd say "I wish that's all I had to complain about."

I never knew what she meant by that. I wish I still didn't.

Lakehouse Potatoes

3 large red potatoes, peeled and cut into 1 1/2-inch chunks

1 small onion, chopped

Salt and pepper

1/2 cup oil (butter flavored Crisco is best)

Fry chunks of potato in a large cast-iron skillet over medium-high heat for about 10-15 minutes, stirring often. Add onion and cook about five more minutes. Remove from pan with a slotted spoon. Place in a bowl, then sprinkle with salt and pepper to taste.

Karla DeLuca is editor and publisher of The Daily Sentinel. Her e-mail address is kdeluca@coxnews.com.