My mother sent this to me an e-mail, and it is just to good not to share!
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 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 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 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
midriff and looked like a
jellyfish in mourning.
I tried on a bright pink pair with
such a high cut leg I thought I would
have to wax my eyebrows to wear them.
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.”
I GIVE UP!
bathing suit shopping
The American bald eagle is thriving after four decades on the endangered species list! Biologist have counted 10,000 mating pairs of bald eagles. The eagle population hit bottom in 1963 when only 417 mating pairs could be found in the United States.
