Something to Lighten the Thoughts of Such a Horrible Day
I was browsing the Gallery of new photos, where I ran up on this little story(originally posted by Brenda G)
... I thought it might lighten the mood of today.
(Today is the sad "anniversary" of 911.
In case there are others out there like ME, that did not realize it until they read or seen something on tv about it.)
Huggs
Sunni
Shopping for Bathing Suits... Women over 40
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 1960'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 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 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 range of flourescent rubber bands.
What choice did I have? I wandered around, made my sensible choice and entered the chamber or horrors known as the fitting room.
The first thing that 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 being that any shark taking a swipe at your passing midriff would immediately suffer whiplash.
I fought my way into a bathing suit, bust 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 bump. I realigned by speed bump and lurched toward the mirror to take a full view assessment.
The bathing suit fit all right, but unfortunately, it only fitted those bits of me willing to stay inside it. The rest of me oozed out rebelliously from top, bottom and side. 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 prepubescent sales girl popped her head through the curtain, "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 crinkle one that make me look like a lump of masking tape. I tried on 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 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 two piece with such a high cut leg, I thought I would have to wax my eye brows.
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 noticed a label I hadn't read before. It said, "Material may become transparent in water."
Isn't This the truth.
Shopping for Bathing Suits... Women over 40
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 1960'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 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 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 range of flourescent rubber bands.
What choice did I have? I wandered around, made my sensible choice and entered the chamber or horrors known as the fitting room.
The first thing that 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 being that any shark taking a swipe at your passing midriff would immediately suffer whiplash.
I fought my way into a bathing suit, bust 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 bump. I realigned by speed bump and lurched toward the mirror to take a full view assessment.
The bathing suit fit all right, but unfortunately, it only fitted those bits of me willing to stay inside it. The rest of me oozed out rebelliously from top, bottom and side. 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 prepubescent sales girl popped her head through the curtain, "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 crinkle one that make me look like a lump of masking tape. I tried on 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 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 two piece with such a high cut leg, I thought I would have to wax my eye brows.
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 noticed a label I hadn't read before. It said, "Material may become transparent in water."
Isn't This the truth. 
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