The Bathing Suit
This will be me in no time.
The Bathing Suit
When I was a child in the 1960s the bathing suit for the mature figurewas boned, trussed and reinforced, not so much sewn as engineered. Theywere built to hold back and uplift and they did a good job.
Today's stretch fabrics are designed for the prepubescent girl with afigure carved from a potato chip.
The mature woman has a choice-she can either go up front to thematernity department and try on a floral suit with a skirt, coming awaylooking like a hippopotamus who escaped from Disney's Fantasia or shecan wander around every run of the mill department store trying to makea sensible choice from what amounts to a designer range of florescentrubber bands.
What choice did I have? I wandered around, made my sensible choice andentered the chamber of horrors known as the fitting room.
The first thing I noticed was the extraordinary tensile strength of thestretch material. The Lycra used in bathing costumes was developed, Ibelieve, by NASA to launch small rockets from a slingshot, which givethe added bonus that if you manage to actually lever yourself into one,you are protected from shark attacks as any shark taking a swipe at yourpassing midriff would immediately suffer whiplash. I fought my way intothe bathing suit, but as I twanged the shoulder strap in place, I gaspedin horror - my boobs had disappeared!
Eventually, I found one boob cowering under my left armpit. It took awhile to find the other. At last I located it flattened beside myseventh rib..
The problem is that modern bathing suits have no bra cups. The maturewoman is meant to wear her boobs spread across her chest like a speedbump.I realigned my speed bump and lurched toward the mirror to take a fullview assessment.
The bathing suit fit all right, but unfortunately it only fit those bitsof me willing to stay inside it. The rest of me oozed out rebelliouslyfrom top, bottom, and sides. I looked like a lump of play dough wearing undersized cling wrap.
As I tried to work out where all those extra bits had come from, theprepubescent sales girl popped her head through the curtain, 'Oh, thereyou are,' she said, admiring the bathing suit.
I replied that I wasn't so sure and asked what else she had to show me.I tried on a cream crinkled one that made me look like a lump of maskingtape, and a floral two piece which gave the appearance of an oversizednapkin in a serving ring.
I struggled into a pair of leopard skin bathers with ragged frills andcame out looking like Tarzan's Jane, pregnant with triplets and having arough day.
I tried on a black number with a midriff and looked like a jellyfish inmourning.
I tried on a bright pink pair with such a high cut leg I thought I wouldhave to wax my eyebrows to wear them.
Finally, I found a suit that fit...a two-piece affair with a shortsstyle bottom and a loose blouse-type top.
It was cheap, comfortable, and bulge-friendly, so I bought it. Myridiculous search had a successful outcome, I figured.When I got home, I found a label which read -- 'Material might becometransparent in water.'
So, if you happen to be on the beach or near any other body of waterthis year and I'm there too I'll be the one in cut off jeans and at-shirt!
The Bathing Suit
When I was a child in the 1960s the bathing suit for the mature figurewas boned, trussed and reinforced, not so much sewn as engineered. Theywere built to hold back and uplift and they did a good job.
Today's stretch fabrics are designed for the prepubescent girl with afigure carved from a potato chip.
The mature woman has a choice-she can either go up front to thematernity department and try on a floral suit with a skirt, coming awaylooking like a hippopotamus who escaped from Disney's Fantasia or shecan wander around every run of the mill department store trying to makea sensible choice from what amounts to a designer range of florescentrubber bands.
What choice did I have? I wandered around, made my sensible choice andentered the chamber of horrors known as the fitting room.
The first thing I noticed was the extraordinary tensile strength of thestretch material. The Lycra used in bathing costumes was developed, Ibelieve, by NASA to launch small rockets from a slingshot, which givethe added bonus that if you manage to actually lever yourself into one,you are protected from shark attacks as any shark taking a swipe at yourpassing midriff would immediately suffer whiplash. I fought my way intothe bathing suit, but as I twanged the shoulder strap in place, I gaspedin horror - my boobs had disappeared!
Eventually, I found one boob cowering under my left armpit. It took awhile to find the other. At last I located it flattened beside myseventh rib..
The problem is that modern bathing suits have no bra cups. The maturewoman is meant to wear her boobs spread across her chest like a speedbump.I realigned my speed bump and lurched toward the mirror to take a fullview assessment.
The bathing suit fit all right, but unfortunately it only fit those bitsof me willing to stay inside it. The rest of me oozed out rebelliouslyfrom top, bottom, and sides. I looked like a lump of play dough wearing undersized cling wrap.
As I tried to work out where all those extra bits had come from, theprepubescent sales girl popped her head through the curtain, 'Oh, thereyou are,' she said, admiring the bathing suit.
I replied that I wasn't so sure and asked what else she had to show me.I tried on a cream crinkled one that made me look like a lump of maskingtape, and a floral two piece which gave the appearance of an oversizednapkin in a serving ring.
I struggled into a pair of leopard skin bathers with ragged frills andcame out looking like Tarzan's Jane, pregnant with triplets and having arough day.
I tried on a black number with a midriff and looked like a jellyfish inmourning.
I tried on a bright pink pair with such a high cut leg I thought I wouldhave to wax my eyebrows to wear them.
Finally, I found a suit that fit...a two-piece affair with a shortsstyle bottom and a loose blouse-type top.
It was cheap, comfortable, and bulge-friendly, so I bought it. Myridiculous search had a successful outcome, I figured.When I got home, I found a label which read -- 'Material might becometransparent in water.'
So, if you happen to be on the beach or near any other body of waterthis year and I'm there too I'll be the one in cut off jeans and at-shirt!
posted by Sara at 6:21 PM
1 Comments:
Sara! Did you write this?!?! It's hilarious! If you wrote it, you should immediately submit it to a few magazine publishers and make some money.
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