ThE DrEaDeD SwImSuIt...

I just read this in an email and I couldn't help, but laugh! I think all of us know how this poor woman feels!



"When I was a child the bathing suit for the mature figure was 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 go up front to 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 florescent 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 as any shark taking a
swipe at your passing midriff would immediately suffer whip lash.

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. 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 boobs spread across her chest like
a speed bump. I realigned my speed bump 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
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 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 serving ring.

I struggled into a pair of leopard skin bathers with ragged frills
and came out looking like Tarzan's Jane, pregnant with triplets and
having a rough day.

I tried on a black number with a mesh midriff and looked like a
jellyfish in mourning.

I tried on a bright pink suit with such a high cut leg I thought I
would have to wax my eyebrows to wear it .

Finally, I found a suit that fit - a two-piece affair with a shorts
style bottom and a loose blouse-type top. It was cheap, comfortable,
and 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 and I'm there too, I'll be the one in cut-off jeans and a
t-shirt!


Author Unknown