Diving in

He wasn’t good at taking advice or, it turned out, at metaphors.
“It’s like getting into cold water” I said. “You can take it slowly, but all you’re doing is making the unpleasantness last longer. Or you can jump in. It’s horrible and everyone gets splashed but it gets it over with and you can get on with getting used to the water.”
He thought about this for a while and then his face took on the expression that meant that he had thought of something which HE thought was clever. It almost never was.
“So, what about divers then?” He sat back and smirked. Waiting for me to congratulate him on his brilliance.
“What about them?”
“Well, divers - the really good ones, the Olympic ones...?” He paused, waiting for me to acknowledge that, yes, I had heard about the divers. The really good ones. The Olympic ones. I shut my eyes which he took as sufficient encouragement to carry on. “Well, these divers, they get both. They have a piece of cake and then they eat it.” I opened my eyes. Questioningly. He put his hands together as if in prayer. “They get it over with but no-one gets splashed.” He dipped his prayerful hands forward and leaned in to confide “They would lose marks.”
I shut my eyes again but, when I opened them, he was still there. “So, is that it? You’re going to do a reverse backflip with twist and no-one will get wet?”
“No!” He was scornful. “I’m going to sneak away while she’s watching the divers!”