Yes, it is!

Monday, July 11, 2011

The Bathing Suit

I don't usually forward emails that I receive from others but this one is too cute to not share.  Enjoy!

BUYING A MATURE WOMAN'S BATHING SUIT 
  
The Bathing Suit (by a middle-age woman unknown) 
 
When I was a child in the 1950s, the bathing suit for the mature figure 
was-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. 

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 that 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 gives the added 
bonus that if you manage to actually lever yourself into one, you would 
be protected from shark attacks.  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 boobs had disappeared! 

Eventually, I found one boob 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 boobs 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 
Playdoh 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 that 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, 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.  My ridiculous search 
had a successful outcome, I figured. 

When I got it home, I found a label that read, "Material might become 
transparent in water." 

So, if you happen to be on the beach or near any other body of water 
this year and I'm there too, I'll be the one in cut-off jeans and a 
T-shirt! 

You'd better be laughing or rolling on the floor by this time.  Life 
isn't about how to survive the storm, but how to dance in the rain, 
with or without a bathing suit!
 

Note:     Anyone who received this - who wears a single digit dress size - THIS WAS SENT TO YOU IN ERROR, but I hope you got a good chuckle out of it anyway!
 

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