Let The Games Begin!

37 Women in bathing suits on Collaroy Beach, 1908,  photographed by Colin CairdIn lieu of the Olympic Games being just around the corner, you may have mistakenly assumed I was referring to that.  Um…no.

About this time each year, we are fortunate enough to take a vacation to parts far and wide – generally somewhere tropical.  While I am eternally grateful for the escape from the Polar Vortex, I am never happy to face the dreaded task that  strikes fear in the hearts of women.  Of course I am referring to shopping for a bathing suit.

The first mistake one can make in the pursuit of the perfect suit is to look on-line.  The women who model bathing suits are bathing suit models, for crying out loud.  Those suits do NOT look like that on the average woman.

So I hold my head high and head to Macy’s.  As I pass through the racks of swim wear, I note the beads of sweat on the lips of my fellow browsers.

The first thing that hits me is the price – holy cow!  What the heck are these made of?  It had better be fabric that causes me to look 10 pounds lighter  and 10 years younger or some heads are gonna roll!

The next task is to decide if the choice will be one-piece or two.  To dare to try on the dreaded two-piece is to run foolishly into the unknown.  However, the one-piece suits look too matronly.  Choices, choices.

So I find a few contenders and head into the ‘fitting room’.  There’s a misnomer if I’ve ever heard one.  Now if the department stores were wise, they would offer us a tropical drink as we enter the mirrored area, all the while playing Hawaiian music or some such thing.  They should also take some lessons in lighting – anything that hides cellulite would be appreciated. Lastly, give me one of those mirrors that makes me look taller.  It’s okay if it’s deceptive, I’ll forgive you.

After deciding on a suit, I head home.  But the thing that gets me through is that, even though I’m not as svelte as I once was, neither are most of the other people we will be sharing the beach with.  That plus I’ll be somewhere tropical with a slushy drink in my hand.  At that point, nothing else really matters.

 

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