- THE SWIMSUIT -

When I was a girl in the 1940's & 50's, the bathing suit for the mature figure was boned, trussed & reinforced, not so much sewn, as engineered. They were built to hold back & uplift & 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 & 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 florescent rubber bands. What choice did I have? I wandered around, made my sensible choice & 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're protected from shark attacks as 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, but at last I located it flattened beside my seventh rib. The problem is that modern bathing suits have no bra cups. The mature woman's meant to wear her boobs spread across her chest like a speed bump. I realigned my speed bump & 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 & 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 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 & 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, & a floral two piece which gave the appearance of an oversized napkin in a serving ring. I struggled into a pair of leopard skin bathers with ragged frills & came out looking like Tarzan's Jane, pregnant with triplets & having a rough day. I tried on a black number with a midriff & looked like a jellyfish in mourning. I tried on a bright pink pair with such a high cut leg I thought I'd have to wax my eyebrows to wear them. Finally, I found a suit that fit....a two-piece affair with a shorts style bottom & a loose blouse-type top. It was cheap, comfortable & bulge-friendly, so I bought it. My ridiculous search had a successful outcome, I figured. When I got home, I found a label which 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 & I'm there too, but l’ll be the one in jean shorts & a T-shirt!