I laughed until I had tears running down my face at the
following..... Subject: Bathing Suit
This was forwarded to me.
Thought you would enjoy it.
I have just been through the annual
pilgrimage of torture and humiliation known as buying a bathing suit. When
I was a child, the bathing suit for the woman with a mature figure was
designed for a woman with a mature figure. Boned, trussed, and reinforced,
those swim suits were not so much sewn as engineered. They were built to
hold back and uplift and they did a darn good job.
Today,
stretch-fabric bathing suits are designed for the prepubescent girl with a
figure chipped out of marble. The woman with a mature figure has little
choice. She can either front up at the maternity wear department and try
on a floral costume with a skirt and come away looking like a hippopotamus
that has escaped from Fantasia - or she can wander around any
run-of-the-mill bathing costume departments and try to make a
sensible choice from what amounts to a designer range of
fluoro rubber bands.
What choice did I have? I wandered
around. I made my choice and disappeared in to the small chamber
of horrors known as the fitting room.
The first thing I noticed about
the bathing suit was the extraordinary tensile strength of the stretch
material. The lycra that goes into bathing suits was developed, I believe,
by NASA to launch small rockets by a sling shot. And it comes with the
bonus that as long as you can lever your body into a lycra suit, you
can protect your vital organs from shark attack; the reason being that any
shark foolish enough to take a swipe at your passing midriff would
immediately suffer from jaw whiplash injury.
I fought my way into the
first suit but as I twanged the last shoulder strap in place, I gasped in
horror. My bosom had disappeared. I found one cowering under my left
armpit. It took a little longer to find the other - flattened beside my 7th
rib. The problem is" today's suits don't have bra cups.
The
mature woman is meant to wear her bosom spread across her chest like a
speed hump. I realigned my speed hump and turned to the mirror to make a
full-view assessment. The suit fit all right. Unfortunately it only fit those
bits of me willing to stay inside it. The rest of me oozed out of the
top, bottom, and sides. I looked like a lump of playdough wearing an
undersized piece of cling wrap. As I tried to work out where all these extra
bits of me had come from, the sales girl poked her head around the curtain.
"Oh, there y'all are," she gasped.
"Yes, they are ALL
me," I replied, looking at the extra bits. "What else
have you got?"
I tried on a crinkled cream one which made me look
like designer tape. I tried on a floral two-piece which made me look
like an oversized napkin in a napkin ring. I struggled into one of
leopard skin with a ragged frill and ended up looking like Tarzan on an off
day. I donned a black one with a net midriff and looked like a
jellyfish in mourning, and I tried on a pink one whose legs were so high cut
I would have needed to wax my eyebrows to wear it!
Finally - success.
I found the one that fit. A two piece with a short style bottom and halter
neck top. It was cheap, comfortable, and bulge friendly.
I bought it.
When I got home I read the label: "Material may become transparent in
water." I am determined to wear it. I just have to learn how to do the
breaststroke on dry
land. ====================
