I will be enjoying a trip to England at the end of June for my granddaughter’s wedding. Looking at my 10-year old swimsuit which I’m sure could not make the trip, I decided to go shopping. Now swimsuit shopping is not at the top of my list of favorites, I always dread this trauma of this experience. I thought this story would tickle your funny bone, however I think there is and element of truth here also. Let me know if you agree.
“Shopping for a bathing suit”
I have just been through the annual pilgrimage of torture and humiliation known as buying a bathing suit. When I was a child, the bathing suit for the woman with a mature figure was designed for a woman with a mature figure. Boned, trussed, and reinforced, those swim suits were not so much sewn as engineered. They were built to hold back and uplift and they did a darn good job.
Today, stretch-fabric bathing suits are designed for the prepubescent girl with a figure chipped out of marble. The woman with a mature figure has little choice. She can either front up at the maternity wear department and try on a floral costume with a skirt and come away looking like a hippopotamus that has escaped from Fantasia – or she can wander around any run-of-the-mill bathing costume departments and y to make a sensible choice from what amounts to a designer range of flora rubber bands.
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