Once there was a beautiful swimsuit, and it said to the lady "wear me, for I will hide your wobbly bits, and you will be HAPPY and will FROLIC on the beach with confidence."
And the lady bought the swimsuit, and it was indeed lovely, and she lived happily ever after.
From this you may deduce that I have new bathers. Well done, you.
The last time I bought swimmers I wasn't yet married. I hadn't finished my degree. John Howard was still Prime Minister, the Pope was still a cuddly old man and not an escapee from Star Wars, and Steve Irwin was still ramming his thumb up the butt-holes of various animals with impunity.
What a long time ago.
The reason I've put it off so long is not because I hate going shopping for swimmers. My body hang-ups are more or less a thing of the past, mostly because I just can't bring myself to give a shit anymore. This is how I look, I'm too lazy to exercise and too greedy to eat less, so that's not going to change much anytime soon.
No, it was more to do with the fact that I rarely go to the beach, and it seemed silly to spend the money one something that would get so little use. I'm just not a beachy person. I'm a creature of the indoors by nature. It would be like buying a cherry-pitter or a pair of driving goggles. Nice to have, sure, but when would I ever use the damn thing?
What forced my hand was that my swimmers blew away the last time I ventured out in them. Not while they were still in use, thankfully. But when I'd come in from the sea and draped my (ancient and rather stretched-out old suit) on the verandah to dry, the top simply blew away. I like to think that perhaps they became the basis of a pair of semi-detached bird's nests, or perhaps that a small child is even now using it as a double sling-shot for cantaloupes.
Whatever the case may be, they are long gone, and after six months I started to feel embarrassed at living this close to the beach and not owning suitable beach attire.
But I found the most perfect replacement. It's a one-piece halterneck with blue and white stripes, in what the shop lady described as a 'roaring twenties' style, and it makes me feel like Daisy Buchanan. It's magical. It's ruched across the stomach, it's got a sheepdog bra fitting*, and most importantly, the legs are cut for normals, not 1980s aerobic fanatics. I love it to pieces, and have been to the beach twice since I bought it, which is more times than in the previous two years put together.And not because I wanted to go, simply because the suit is too perfect not to take out in public.
This swimsuit has actually changed my life. I don't even care that I bought it from an old-lady store.
And that's it really. The first time I get on here to write anything in months, and it's to crow about swimmers. To be fair, my job has left me with very little in the way of extra brain power, so be glad it wasn't just me slamming my head repeatedly into the keyboard, which is what I usually do before rejecting what comes out as 'not edgy enough'.
Tomorrow I may have something about more serious things, or possibly just a string of puns about coffee which I haven't decided if I'm game to publish because it is very silly.
Can you stand the suspense?!?!
*rounds them up and points them in the right direction
