SwimsuitSubmitted by emalvini on Thu, 07/18/2013 - 13:48
I have just been through the annual pilgrimage of torture and
humiliation known as buying a bathing suit. When I was a child in the
1940s, the bathing suit for a woman with a mature figure was designed
for a woman with a mature figure -- 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 front up at the maternity department and try on a floral
suit with a skirt, coming away looking like a hippopotamus who 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 give the added
bonus that if you manage to actually lever yourself into one, you are
protected from shark attacks.
The reason for this is that 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 bosom had disappeared!
Eventually, I found one bosom 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 bosom spread across her chest like a speed hump.
I realigned my speed hump and lurched toward the mirror to take a full
view assessment. The bathing suit fit all right, 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 playdough 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 curtains, "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
tap e, and a floral two piece which gave the appearance of an oversized
napkin in a serviette ring. I struggled into a pair of leopard skin
bathers with ragged frill 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...a two piece affair with shorts style
bottom and a loose blouse-type top. It was cheap, comfortable, and bulge
friendly, so I bought it.
When I got home, I read the label which said "Material may become
transparent in water." I'm determined to wear it anyway.....I'll just
have to learn to do the breaststroke in the sand.
And, summer is here........