The Loony Bin
(
loonies@bloodaxe.com
)
Thu, 15 Jun 2000 20:40:11 +0100
The Loony Bin - http://loonies.net800.co.uk/
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All the ladies on the list who are over a 'certain age' will know
exactly what this is about...it comes from Alena...
Wishes & Dreams...
- ANDREA
xx
*********THE LOONY BIN****loonies@bloodaxe.com*********
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*** Archive: http://loonies.net800.co.uk/ ***
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************ANDROMEDA******Internet Goddess************
------- Forwarded foolishness follows -------
The story of my life....
I have just been through the annual pilgrimage of torture and
humiliation known as buying a bathing costume. When I was a child in the
1950's, the bathing costume for a woman with a mature figure 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 chipped from marble. The mature woman has a choice - she can
either front up at the maternity department and try on a floral costume
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 fluorescent rubber bands. What choice did I have?
I wondered 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 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 costume, but as I twanged the shoulder
strap in place, I gasped in horror - my bosom had disappeared!
Eventually I found one bosom 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 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 costume fit all right, but
unfortunately, it 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 curtains.
"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 napkin 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 a
midriff and looked like a jellyfish in mourning. I tried on a bright
pink pair with such high cut legs I thought I would have to wax my
eyebrows to wear them.
Finally, I found a costume that fit...a two-piece affair with shorts-
style bottom and a halter-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.
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