Am I Spankable?

One of our chores every autumn is to drain the ornamental pond, discard the very expensive plants (sigh!) and bring the goldfish in for the winter. We try to choose a reasonably warm and sunny day to do this, because we both invariably end up soaked.
Ron controls the vacuum that sucks most of the water out of the pond. My job is to control the slurping end of the hose and to hold a strainer over the end so that fish, snails, leaves and frogs aren't sucked up as well.
As I lay on my tummy on a thick foam pad to protect my chest from the rough stones, head and shoulders down, waiting for the pump to be turned on, I thought how delightfully spankable I must look, with my bottom the highest part of my body. Or perhaps I just looked ridiculous.
I waited. No swats were forthcoming, so I guess it was the latter. I must consider replacing those burnt orange cotton workpants with something slightly more seductive.