When I was a child in the 1950s, the bathing suit for the
mature figure was-boned, trussed and reinforced, not so much
sewn as engineered. They were built to hold back and uplift,
and they did a good job. Today's stretch fabrics are
designed for the prepubescent girl with a figure carved from
a potato chip.
The mature woman has a choice, she can either go up front to
the maternity department and try on a floral suit with a
skirt, coming away looking like a hippopotamus that escaped
from Disney's Fantasia, or she can wander around every
run-of-the-mill department store trying to make a sensible
choice from what amounts to a designer range of fluorescent
What choice did I have? I wandered around, made my sensible
choice and entered the chamber of horrors known as the
fitting room. The first thing I noticed was the
extraordinary tensile strength of the stretch material. The
Lycra used in bathing costumes was developed, I believe, by
NASA to launch small rockets from a slingshot, which gives
the added bonus that if you manage to actually lever
yourself into one, you would be protected from shark
attacks. Any shark taking a swipe at your passing midriff
would immediately suffer whiplash.
I fought my way into the bathing suit, but as I twanged the
shoulder strap in place I gasped in horror, my boobs had
disappeared! Eventually, I found one boob cowering under my
left armpit. It took a while to find the other. At last I
located it flattened beside my seventh rib.
The problem is that modern bathing suits have no bra cups.
The mature woman is meant to wear her boobs spread across
her chest like a speed bump. I realigned my speed bump and
lurched toward the mirror to take a full view assessment. I
was the proud owner of a uni-boob!
The bathing suit fit alright, but unfortunately it only fit
those bits of me willing to stay inside it. The rest of me
oozed out rebelliously from top, bottom and sides. I looked
like a lump of Playdoh wearing undersized cling wrap.
As I tried to work out where all those extra bits had come
from, the prepubescent sales girl popped her head through
the in, "Oh, there you are!" she said, admiring the
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 masking tape, and a floral two-piece
that gave the appearance of an oversized napkin in a serving
I struggled into a pair of leopard-skin bathers with ragged
frills and came out looking like Tarzan's Jane, pregnant
with triplets and having a rough day.
I tried on a black number with a midriff and looked like a
jellyfish in mourning.
I tried on a bright pink pair with such a high cut leg I
thought I would have to wax my eyebrows to wear them.
Finally, I found a suit that fit, it was a two-piece affair
with a shorts-style bottom and a loose blouse-type top. It
was cheap, comfortable, and bulge-friendly, so I bought it.
My ridiculous search had a successful outcome, I figured.
When I got it home, I found a label that read, "Material
might become transparent in water."
So, if you happen to be on the beach or near any other body
of water this year and I'm there too, I'll be the one in
cut-off jeans and a T-shirt!
You'd better be laughing or rolling on the floor by this
time. Life isn't about how to survive the storm, but how to
dance in the rain, with or without a bathing suit!
I have to give credit for this hilarious commentary to my best buddy, Thellie. She has it posted on her Facebook page and I said that I just had to post it on here. If I have offended anyone, please accept my apology but I'm hoping everyone takes it as it was intended....a hilarious look at purchasing a bathing suit.
Blessings as always,