Swimsuit Tight Spot

I opened the morning news to discover a twelve-year-old, wearing a swimsuit, advertised in the Misses section of the store. Summer is fast approaching. It is the most dreaded season of the year for those of us who are a bit fluffy and seasoned.

I think most women dread this time of year and the annual swimsuit purchase. Even my skinny friends manage to conjure up an eighth of an inch of cellulose that manages to triple in size in the dressing room mirror.

Locating a suit that conceals a shape reminiscent of a ’57 Studebaker is next to impossible. Forget what you read about skirted suits; they conceal nothing. You look like a beach umbrella gone rogue.

The high cut leg is touted as slimming. Wanna bet? They display more of the thighs you wanted to hide in the first place. A patterned midriff style does not conceal love handles. You look like a blob wearing your Aunt Gertie’s 1948 sofa throw.

Settling for a completely black number that covers most of the horrors, you proceed to the dressing room.

Once you have stripped down to the point where you can try on the suit, you notice a warning posted on the dressing room wall….”These rooms are monitored.” Oh please God, say it isn’t so.

A total stranger is watching everything you so desperately want to conceal. Someone is actually going to see you struggle, without a shoehorn, to get the blasted suit on and in place.

Where oh where is the camera? Oh, it’s that little black glass do-hickey up in the ceiling where you can’t reach it or cover it with an item of clothing you just removed. I imagine someone in a cube in India bent double with laughter at my tortured attempts to wriggle into a new swimsuit. At least if you go to the beach or the pool you can hide under a huge beach towel until you are in the water.

Facing the horror of the swimsuit try on is an exercise in character development for women of a certain age. We are never going to look like that mal-nourished waif in the swimsuit advertisement.

I’m hitting the pool as soon as the clock strikes midnight!

Note: Originally published May 2011. Unfortunately the '57 Studebaker morphed into a Hummer.

 

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