~ Choosing A Bathing Suit ~
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 1950's,
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
pre-pubescent 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 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 play
dough wearing undersized cling wrap. As I tried
to work out where all those extra bits had come
from, the pre-pubescent sales girl popped 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 tape, 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.
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Page by
SusieQ
Updated 3/06/03
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