Bathing Costume

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 damn 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 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. 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 hump. I realigned my speed hump and
lurched toward the mirror to take a full view assessment.


The bathing costume fitted all right, but unfortunately, it
only fitted 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 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 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 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..... 

(from Mary Mattern)

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