Maray
DIS Veteran (B.C. Survivor-17yrs.Now!)
- Joined
- Aug 19, 1999
- Messages
- 205
Some Fluff
If Summer ever comes here in the N.E........................
Shopping for Bathing Suits (for those of us who wear them) this keeps
getting better each time I read it - -
As we look forward to the summer season and time at the beach or pool,
here is something to think about when shopping for that perfect bathing
suit for our less-than-perfect figures.
In the 50's, the bathing suit was designed for a woman with a mature
figure: 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 - and I do mean a thin chip!
The mature woman has a choice: she can either go 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 department store trying to make a sensible choice
from what amounts to a designer range of fluorescent rubber bands.
What choice did I have? I wandered around, made what I thought was a
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 suits was developed, I believe, by NASA to
launch small rockets from a slingshot, which gives the added bonus that
if you manage to actually lever yourself into one, you are protected
from shark attacks. The reason for this is that 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 bosom had disappeared!
Eventually, I found one boob cowering under my left armpit. It took a
while to find the other one. At last I located it flattened beside my
seventh rib.
The problem is that modern bathing suits have no bra cups. So the
mature
woman has to wear her bosom 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 of 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 salesgirl popped her head through the curtains and said:
"Oh, there you are!" as she admired the bathing suit with a frozen
smile.
I replied that I wasn't so sure about it, and asked what else she had
to show me.
I tried on a cream-colored crinkled one that made me look like a ball
of masking tape, and a floral two-piece which gave me the appearance of
an oversized napkin in a serviette ring.
I struggled into a pair of leopard skin bathers with ragged frill and
came out looking like Tarzan's Jane, pregnant with triplets and having a
rough day.
I tried on a black number, with midriff chiffon dangles and looked like
a jellyfish in mourning.
I tried on a bright pink one with such a high-cut leg that I thought I
would have to wax my eyebrows to wear it.
Finally, I found a suit that fit! It was 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.
When I got home, I read the label, which said:
"Material may become transparent in water." I'm determined to wear it
anyway.
I'll just have to learn to do the breaststroke in the sand.
If Summer ever comes here in the N.E........................
Shopping for Bathing Suits (for those of us who wear them) this keeps
getting better each time I read it - -
As we look forward to the summer season and time at the beach or pool,
here is something to think about when shopping for that perfect bathing
suit for our less-than-perfect figures.
In the 50's, the bathing suit was designed for a woman with a mature
figure: 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 - and I do mean a thin chip!
The mature woman has a choice: she can either go 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 department store trying to make a sensible choice
from what amounts to a designer range of fluorescent rubber bands.
What choice did I have? I wandered around, made what I thought was a
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 suits was developed, I believe, by NASA to
launch small rockets from a slingshot, which gives the added bonus that
if you manage to actually lever yourself into one, you are protected
from shark attacks. The reason for this is that 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 bosom had disappeared!
Eventually, I found one boob cowering under my left armpit. It took a
while to find the other one. At last I located it flattened beside my
seventh rib.
The problem is that modern bathing suits have no bra cups. So the
mature
woman has to wear her bosom 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 of 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 salesgirl popped her head through the curtains and said:
"Oh, there you are!" as she admired the bathing suit with a frozen
smile.
I replied that I wasn't so sure about it, and asked what else she had
to show me.
I tried on a cream-colored crinkled one that made me look like a ball
of masking tape, and a floral two-piece which gave me the appearance of
an oversized napkin in a serviette ring.
I struggled into a pair of leopard skin bathers with ragged frill and
came out looking like Tarzan's Jane, pregnant with triplets and having a
rough day.
I tried on a black number, with midriff chiffon dangles and looked like
a jellyfish in mourning.
I tried on a bright pink one with such a high-cut leg that I thought I
would have to wax my eyebrows to wear it.
Finally, I found a suit that fit! It was 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.
When I got home, I read the label, which said:
"Material may become transparent in water." I'm determined to wear it
anyway.
I'll just have to learn to do the breaststroke in the sand.
