No one is more surprised than I am, but I have reached the stage in my life where I don’t like shopping for clothes. I cannot muster enthusiasm to shop for a sorely needed swimsuit upgrade, even at a half price sale. My BFF advanced the theory that my lack of interest is not due to age, but the hassle of trying on garments with practically no assistance from sales people.
Keeping a vigilant lookout and moving quickly, I make it into the pool and out of sight. Exiting the pool is a bit tricky as the wet suit is so saggy in the rear it resembles an armada. Swathing myself in a beach towel, I dash into the safety of the dressing room without being arrested for public indecency.
My extra suit started life as a geometric print number, with a runched torso. It is supposed to minimize abs that refuse to morph into a 6-pack. The fabric gave up the runch about three months ago and the straps look like bungee cords. I am coming dangerously close to looking like a people of Walmart photo.
My BFF has swimsuit challenges as well. Her suit was once a beautiful shade of chocolate brown. Chlorine turned the suit an odd shade of purple; not a classy aubergine hue, but more of a bag lady shade of yuck. Her remaining swimsuit option is a two-piece number that is approaching three pieces.
I pleaded allergy attack while she launched a swimsuit search and destroy shopping mission. Her experience convinced me I was correct to play the sick card. Armed with several suits and after assurance from a perky sales person that help would be available; she headed to the dressing room. The try on’s proved to be unsuitable. Her cup runneth over and not in the biblical sense. Dressed in her original birth state and in desperate need of assistance, she waited for perky sales person to appear. Perky sales person had disappeared into the hinterlands of the store. The prospect of dressing, schlepping to the sales rack, returning to undress and try on was as appealing as apple juice for the cocktail hour.
We decided to choose our battles and come to terms with our old swimsuits. Saggy is good, yucky color is unique and beach towels are cheap.
Categories: Biased, Unbalanced and Politically Incorrect
I am a lifelong Southerner, short story author, and essayist. Home is Dallas, Texas.
My essays have appeared in Flash Fiction Magazine, The Dead Mule School of Southern Writing.