BUYING A MATURE WOMAN'S BATHING SUIT

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

rubber bands.

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

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 masking tape, and a floral two-piece

that gave the appearance of an oversized napkin in a serving

ring.

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,

Barbara