No one's life is sane. It is learning how to live with the insanity that is the trick. Sure, down South, we all have our skeletons in the closet. The difference is - we open the doors and let them dance on the front porch. After all, who doesn't have a mother who thinks she knows it all, a father who knows best, at least one irritating sibling, and that weird uncle no one wants to sit by at supper. I'm not sure what "Normal" is, but whatever it is, I know I live a bit south of it.
Wednesday, April 11, 2018
The Bathing Costume
Today, I digress from Gallagher and Bunny. This describes the pain (and reality) of yesterday. Full disclosure, this was orginally posted several years ago, however the experience unfortunately has not changed. ________________ The good news is that I am packing for a trip to Caymen. The bad news is that I have to once again face my nemesis - the bathing suit. Ah, the bathing suit, aka swimsuit aka bathing costume aka two piece; that cruel piece of clothing that causes middle age women like me to seek huge quantities of adult beverages and/or counseling.
I stood there yesterday staring at my two swimming costumes (another word according the thesaurus) hating my genes. Why was I not born to age like Christie Brinkley, who at the age of 60, is still courted by Sports Illustrated for their annual swimsuit issue? No, I was destined, or rather doomed, to age like the Pillsbury Dough Boy.
Ten years ago I set my mind to lose weight. And after several years managed to drop 80 something pounds and 12 dress sizes -18P down to 6P. (Isn't the size 18 petite an oxymoron? But I digress.) One of my daily thoughts during that long struggle of slowly losing pound by pound, was that at the end I was going to be able to play beach blanket bingo while proudly wearing a bathing suit for the first time with pride.
But not so fast. No one bothered to tell me that even losing that much weight and suffering years of denial of the good stuff would still not help me over come my battle with that piece of clothing. Oh, the cruel injustice.
So once again I stood there looking at pieces of cloth. I knew someone could do a better job designing one that made middle age women feel better when they donned it. Lands End does a good job, letting the shopper pick and choose from a myriad of different tops and bottoms to create a unique suit that the shopper feels best suits (no pun intended) her needs. Still that falls short.
Perhaps nothing short of something created by J.K. Rowling that doesn't change the suit itself, but creates an illusion in the mind of the wearer whom she, too, looks like Christie Brinkley when she dons the suit. In this case, I really think ignorance is bliss. I'm game. Perhaps the Empress can have new clothes after all.