Dear Quarantine Diary – Week #34

Tags

bathing suit, covid-19 diary, covid-19 humour, dear diary, faith, family, food, humour

Dear Diary – Every day Pinterest emails me posts they’ve chosen for me ‘cuz they think I”d be interested. They’re usually completely wrong. However, the chart of yoga poses did catch my attention, not because I do yoga, but because I live with men and have been conditioned me to zero in on certain things. It was actually one pose in particular: wind relieving.

I had to laugh out loud because all I could picture was a sign on the studio bulletin board for a community ChiliFest, and a room full of doughy, mature ladies in spandex suits, tights, headbands and ’80s leg warmers… with cartoon toots.

Dear Diary – My basil plants, the only seeds that grew from the 7 packages of seeds I purchased from a local flower farm, are on steriods. It’s been about 2 weeks since I last harvested a big bunch. This weekend, I plucked and dried 8 cookie sheets of herbs. Three days later, I harvested another half sheet, and could have plucked more. Guess what everyone’s getting in their stocking this Christmas!

Dear Diary – I got to eat dinner out…sort of! It was a catered meal in a church parking lot. I had to bring my own chair, but I didn’t have to cook and it was a big step up from McDonald’s, so it counts as “out”.

Dear Diary – I was blessed to be part of a worship team on Sunday morning, but the expression “early to bed, early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise” did not apply. Instead, it was more like “late to slumber, early to tumble, makes a tired, overworked woman grumble”. Except everyone was still abed when I got up, and comfortably snoozing when I left. There was no one to complain to and no amount of caffeine in the world to perk these old bones. My eyelids felt like sandpaper except for a brief period between 12 and 12:05. It was a pretty gritty day.

The trip to the church is about half an hour, and in a pitiful effort to be joyful, I put on perky music. Obviously I wasn’t thinking clearly. It could have been a mistake had the sun not been shining. The bright rays caused my eyes to tear up, and as I blinked away the dewiness, I noticed a rainbow to the left and right of the sun.

A sun dog or sun bow can appear when light passes through ice crystals in the atmosphere at an angle of 22 degrees, creating a halo effect. Usually it’s just a bright spot that mimics the sun, but occasionally, it is an actual rainbow. And this rainbow was bright and colourful.

As the beauty of this strange phenomenon infused my fatigued brain, lines from the song boucing through the speakers also seeped into my consciousness:

Your resurrection power burns like fire in my heart…

You are the fire that cannot be tamed…

You are stronger than our hearts, You are greater than the dark, with You, we are victorious.

Rend Collective, “More Than Conquerors”

Rainbows have long been a symbol of hope and promise. Remember Noah? There have been a few times in my life, when things seemed bleak or blah, that God painted a rainbow for me, and I couldn’t help but marvel at His faithfulness and creativity.

This past year has certainly had some bleak and blah moments. I have mourned losses of people, places and positions. I have often felt lonely and lost. I’ve kept busy but deep down there’s been a longing for a place and a crying out for a purpose. Breathing and taking up space just isn’t enough. And here’s God, painting rainbows and singing reminders that He is the Light in dark places, early in the morning to someone He didn’t create to be a morning person. Hallelujah!

God has a sense of humour. If you don’t believe me, tomorrow go to Wal-mart and just look at people.

Carlos Mencia

Dear Diary – As much as I hate bathing suit shopping…the wrestling, the sweating, the loss of dignity and the complete breakdown – even before I’ve even tried one on, but I may have to take the plunge into that Little Shop of Horrors again. When I purchased my black bathing suit, I was looking for something a little sexy but my options were limited by my shape. I ended up with the one that I didn’t get so tangled in, that I ended up laughing hysterically in the dressing room, frightening the waifer-thin, doe-eyed adolescent sales clerk who was new and hadn’t experienced the trauma of serving middle-aged sausages women in spandex!

It was incredibly hot this week, and since we’re about to undergo major (and incredibly expensive) plumbing surgery at home, I ran away from home. To cool off, Mom and I decided to go for an evening swim. Auntie M was joining us.

I was thankful I had had the foresight to use the bathroom before I put I attempted to put my suit on. When I purchased this sexy suit, I had less fat to stuff in weighed less and was slightly more bendy than I am now. This suit had very thin straps, which has to support very hefty weight. These tiny straps are also part of an elaborate corset-style back on my suit. The longer I wear the suit, the longer all those strings become as they try to hold everything in place. The suit itself, fits snugger than it used to, so pulling it on is kind of like stuffing meat in a sausage casing. You just kind of have to squeeze your eyes shut and keep wiggling and stuffing until everything is contained. So I stuffed and squeezed and succeeded, only to realize, the suit was inside out. To add insult to injury, the padding in the bust, which serves no purpose, was wrinkled and folded in on itself, giving me the appearance of a tween who has stuffed her top with tissue. I know this because I tried it once in Grade 5 and I got caught. At school. In front of boys. It’s not really a story worth sharing.

I wasn’t sure which problem to fix first – the whole “it’s inside out” or the “stuffed with tissue” texture. I opted for the whole suit, which meant more wriggling and squeezing. Dry or wet, this suit does not come off easily. Instead, the strings roll together into a jumbled mess, that creates a roll, that tightens around the waist, making it even more difficult to roll down. And once off, I have to repeat the whole nightmare to get it on again. Having successfully done so and now sweating profusely, I have to spend an inordinate amount of time um….unfurling the bust pads.

I could have worn my bikini but it was still sunny and no one needed to be blinded by the Pillsbury dough babe. I’ve tried wearing a t-shirt over it but when you get out of the water, unlike plastic wrap, it clings like a toddler to whatever Mama wants to take away. It also rolls up the back and becomes a giant knot that threatens to squeeze the air from your lungs. And it’s humiliating, at 48, to have your parents undress you.

I enjoyed my swim, but not what came next.

It may be time to visit the Little Shop of Horrors again.

“Men have an easier time buying bathing suits. Women have two types: depressing and more depressing.
Men have two types: nerdy and not nerdy.”

Rita Rudner

Dear Quarantine Diary #14

Tags

bathing suit, dear diary, humour

Dear Diary – The temperature in the pool has been slowly climbing all week. Yesterday it was 92F. Some would say that’s too warm, but as someone who suffers with a chronic condition, it’s nice to be able to get wet quickly, and actually spend time enjoying floating in the pool. No more gasping, yipping and groaning as I tiptoe around the edge until I feel brave enough to slowly dunk my body like a doughnut in a cup of coffee.

Of course, there’s still a lot of gasping, yipping and groaning as I struggle into my bathing. Two years ago I visited the Little Shop of Horrors to purchase a one piece black bathing suit. I left that shop feeling slightly optimistic that I wouldn’t scar the children on the beach. I felt optimistic as I stood on the beach. Then I saw the photos. My inner babe passed out, and when she regained consciousness, immediately pulled on stretchy pants and retired to the couch with chips. Two years older with my covid body, I look like an albino hippo strapped into  my suit.

We all have hourglass figures; your sand just settles in different places.
– Octavia Spencer

My bikini is not much better. I wore it the first time I went swimming here, appropriately covered by a t-shirt. Which wasn’t so bad until it was time to get out. My ability to dress myself has been hindered of late by a frozen shoulder. Combine that with a wet t-shirt that sticks to your skin and rolls, and pretty soon I was an albino hippo trapped in a orange snare. My mother had to set me free.

Yesterday something didn’t feel right in my one-piece suit. One of the “chest” pads was all mushed up weird, giving my curves some radical angles. And the pads were enclosed in Lycra so there was no quick fix. It required a series of yoga poses to sort it out, in the pool where I could be comfortable and discreet, but I felt like I should have bought myself a drink first.

Floating in the pool is very relaxing, watching the clouds and listening to the birds . The other evening, 3 gold finches perched in a nearby tree and serenaded us. Actually it sounded more like sarcasm and heckling, but I don’t speak finch. Shortly after that, a squirrel sneaked by us, averting his eyes.

Tomorrow I’m going shopping for new pool noodles. My noodle disintegrated into several pieces, leaving little green foam confetti floating in the pool. Good news! As a kid, I could never float. I’d immediately sink the bottom of the pool, and in order to pass my swimming lessons and get my badge, I had to hold my breath to hold myself up. My covid weight has eliminated that problem.

Dear Diary – I’m contemplating some sewing projects including Celtic quilting. We made one for my brother and his wife when they were married years ago. My Mom dug out her patterns and books. Unfortunately, at some point, everything got wet, maybe during the basement flood of 2019! It was mouldy, stuck together and stinky. We managed to salvage a few patterns outside to air out. It rained in the evening and by the time we remembered the patterns, they had been pounded to pulp.

Nana’s Celtic Quilt (same pattern as the one we made for my brother)

Big Guy also provided me a large box of fabulous fabrics, and since most communities in my province are making masks in public mandatory, I’ve started producing masks to sell. There have been the usual challenges…I have ironed and sewn seams on the wrong side, have struggled to thread the needle, and stabbed myself with pins. My thumb has more holes in it than the pin cushion. The heat hasn’t helped. There are moments when even my fingers are sweating. And my frozen shoulder has made it impossible to put my long, frizzy hair up! Remember that scene in The Seven Year itch when Marilyn Monroe stands over the subway grate in her pretty white dress, and it blows up. Dad caught me standing in front of the fan, like Marilyn Monroe. I was too hot to be ashamed. I might have hugged the fan, but I was worried my hair would get caught in the fan and I couldn’t wait 3 weeks for a hair appointment.

I posted a pic of my fabric and one of my masks on Facebook, explaining that I was selling them for $5. I’ve sewn more than a dozen. As of last night, 16 friends liked my post. I guess if I don’t sell any, I’ll be a well-coordinated covid fashionista! Both of my bathing suits are black so I’ll always be coordinated on a beach!

Little Shop of Horrors

Tags

bathing suit, fashion, humiliation, humour

As if facing the hated shopping trip for undergarments wasn’t enough to tax the stalwart, in less than a week, I also forged into bathing suit territory with iron determination to come out with my dignity intact.

You may be thinking…didn’t you just buy a bikini last year? Yes, I did! And it’s perfect for swimming in my Mom’s pool. My parents have said they’ll love me no matter what, and I have already scarred my kids for life. I mean, they were doomed from the moment they were conceived. But this year we’re going to a beach where I can only assume will be covered with half-starved babes with perfect hair in brightly coloured, postage stamp-sized lycra. And where there are beach babes, there will be men of all ages lusting after them. Hopefully not also wearing brightly coloured, postage stamp-sized lycra. [shudder]

“I feel attractive in a bathing suit”, thought no woman ever. “Let’s go bathing suit shopping” said no woman ever. Not unless she is suffering the serious side effects of starvation. [If this happens, feed her immediately!] No woman enjoys the experience of stripping nearly naked in a tiny cubicle with unkind lighting and multiple mirrors. Something happens once we cross the dressing room threshold and close the door. Our femininity transform into something troll-like and our confidence puddles around our ankles. A dainty gazelle becomes a floundering hippo. No amount of chocolate can truly soothe the bruising our self-esteem takes when the (unrealistic) image we have in our mind of how this beautiful item will look on us, is crushed like a spider with a shoe. It’s a swift slap that stuns and stings. Long after we’ve left the dressing room.

Monday morning, I ventured into the store minutes after it opened. Fewer witnesses to see me sweating through my dress. The 12 year old, size 0 store clerk was cheerful and not pushy, which I appreciated. I browsed…and left the store. Baby steps.

Bathing suit stores are Little Shops of Horrors.

An hour later.

After some deep breathing exercises, I returned to the store, much to the surprise of the store clerk, and bravely explained my concerns. I need support! Moral and for the girls! Since it’s the beginning of July, most of their stock is gone [winter stock is on its way], but the store clerk earned her pay pulling a few suits that were close to my size, and whisked me to the back. They were all black [except one that made me look like an obese worm].  I guess black is slimming?

I tried her first pick, a tiny black number that required 3 tiny hangars. My inner babe had high hopes. This suit was cut as an “X” and looked amazing. On the hangar. Instead, it was amazingly difficult to figure out. Once the hangars were removed, I was confused. How am I supposed to wear on a slingshot? Which strap went where, and why isn’t that covering there. Suddenly an albino hippo was oozing out around the waist. Other things were oozing out too. It got so ridiculous, I actually laughed out loud. I think I scared the little clerk hovering beyond the blue curtain. I know I scared my sexy inner babe! She may never be seen again!

There was also this:

After nearly half an hour of sweating, grunting, moaning and elastic snapping, I did find a simple black suit that will do. That was the good news.

The bad news? I cheated with Henry again. And I enjoyed it.

Happy Weekend!

 

Christie Brinkley & Me: Plus Sizes?

Tags

bathing suit, fashion, H&M, humour, models

By “industry standard”, I am a “plus size” girl – even though I’m currently wearing size 6?  OK, I’m not exactly a giant among women at 5′ 1.5 but that seems a little crazy to me (and I was so excited to “shrink” back to a 6)! By today’s runway standards, supermodels Cindy Crawford and Christie Brinkley, would also be considered “plus-size”! According to studies, the average dress size for North American girls is size 12…while models are size 00 and shrinking! Are you confused or am I the only one who suddenly feels like an imaginary carpet has just been tugged out from underneath my feet, and I’ve fallen on my (suddenly) very large bottom?

Imagine my excitement, and then my dismay, when I discovered that a fabulous photo shared repeatedly on Facebook last week, was a hoax!

H&M received a lot of attention for a photo of a full-figured mannequin in purple lingerie (rumored to be in Sweden). Women world-wide were applauding the more realistic shape and size of the mannequin, only to discover that H&M never has and currently does not have any immediate intention of using a voluptuous mannequin in any of the 44 countries in which it operates. Nor, does it seem, do most retailers.

Mannequins only joined the fashion industry during the Industrial Revolution (early 1800s) to display the latest fashion trends. Body proportions, not just fashion trends, changed throughout the ’30s to reflect society, and only in the ’60s, were mannequins fashioned to also reflect pop culture and fashion icons. In more recent years, stick thin mannequins (male and female) have been garnering a lot of negative attention. For example, in 2007, British Health officials demanded London’s High Street stop using stick thin models in an effort to embrace the range and shape of British women. In fact, Displaysense, a mannequin wholesaler in the U.K. recently reported an increase in sales of mannequins above size 12.

Based on the popularity of the photo and the overwhelmingly enthusiastic responses to it, when will retailers take the hint? A recent study in the Journal of Consumer Research shows that overweight women’s self esteem “crashes and burns” when facing models of any size (underweight women’s self-esteem increases), so there is no easy answer. But as long as mannequins are influencing people to buy fashion, reflecting real-life, healthy bodies is a step in the right direction.

Check out Brittany Gibbons, who decided to metaphorically climb a mountain and not only track down the perfect bikini for her body, but to show the world that “big girls” can be bold and beautiful!

It might even inspire me? We’ll see…that’s a pretty big mountain!

Other resources:

Curvy-H-M-Sweden-mannequin-an-online-hoax

Swedish-mannequins-cause-a-controversy

Model-sizes-are-shrinking

Dunkin’ Doughnuts (or getting wet as painfully as possible)

Tags

bathing suit, family, holiday, humour, summer

The days are getting hot again but the nights have been cool enough that the temperature in my parents’ pool has dropped, making it “painful” to get wet. Earlier in the summer, Mom & I had a good laugh, remembering how my Grandmother would get wet. It had seemed so ridiculous when I was a kid, but now, I do it the same way…We coined it “Dunkin’ Doughnuts”!

We used to camp a lot and our favourite place was deep enough in the woods that we usually had the small sandy beach to ourselves. That’s where my brother and I spent most of our time. We built sandcastles, chased tadpoles and frogs, and dumped each other off inflatable rafts…we even dumped my Grandmother “jaws-style”…wait until she was very relaxed, dive under the water silently, and push her off from underneath. Brats!

But we weren’t allowed to go near my Grandmother until she was wet. She would wade into the lake until she was mid-thigh. Then she would scoop water with both hands and rub her tummy. This was often accompanied by huffing and puffing. The next step involved “dunkin’ doughnuts” – or knee bends in a dunking motion to get her bum wet. This motion was usually accompanied by deep intakes of breath and sharp yips! Next, she would shuffle into the water slowly with her arms in the air, until the water was armpit level, and stand still to contemplate the universe for awhile. Eventually she would take the plunge and slip into the water, with a loud gasp. We were, of course, already wet so had a great time watching this display and laughing.

Now I do it too – the tummy, the doughnuts, the tiptoeing along the edge of the pool where it is slightly shallower. Eventually I’m standing still, arms in the air, water lapping my armpits, contemplating the universe. I huff and puff, groan, yip and gasp too. I don’t know exactly when it happened. I used to jump in, no problem, but unless the water is 85-90 degrees, that’s just the way it is. It may be the slowest and most painful way to get wet, but if Little Guy wants to go swimming (and I am trying to get him to swim without a life jacket), I may just have to suck it up for another week. Yipe!

 

 

 

Water Park

Tags

adventure, bathing suit, family, sweets

We had a good time and while I spent most of it wet, I wasn’t cold. Most of the water attractions are inside so we were able to play a long time before we got cold. The time went by pretty quickly and I was surprised that we were actually able to pass 4 hours in a giant water park. There were 5 pools, including a wave pool, a pool with basketball hoops, and a pool with a ropes course, 3 hot tubs (1 for families), 1 lazy river, a large water playscape with 2 slides, and 4 giant slides. Little Guy could only do three of the giant slides with an adult, so Hubby took him on one while I soaked in the adult hot tub. We also did one of the giant slides as a family. I’ve never minded heights before, but the combination of steamy environment, height and nervousness made my knees weak by the time we climbed the staircase and waited our turn. I’m not sure if it helped that I was facing backwards for most of the slide down and couldn’t see what was coming. I have an “official” park photo of our family on the rubber raft…with a lovely shot of Hubby and Little Guy…and a lovely shot of my ponytail! Yes, I screamed for the first two drops – and it wasn’t really because I was having fun. I would like to like roller coasters, but sadly, I just can’t enjoy the drop! I had to sit down after I crawled out of the raft because my legs were rubber. Can I use the excuse next year: I’m too old??

We didn’t do the mini golf or the spa (like Little Guy would be interested in a manicure), but we did visit the gift shop and the arcade. Little Guy chose a new bed buddy (as if he needed another one) and he cuddled with it all the way home. We rented a locker in the water park and we could get back the $10 key deposit or get another stuffie…so I have one too.

Food options were a bit more challenging… I had brought enough snacky stuff to do breakfast in our room. There were no tea bags! There were 2 small restaurants and several “snack shops”. We ended up buying a pizza and taking it back to our room. It was really good. Then we went for dessert…Little Guy had a cupcake with a gummy butterfly, while Hubby and I shared a giant Rocky Road square. I love chocolate and sweets…but half a square was more than enough. We also joined other families for story time with the animated “furry friends”, as well as 2 bedtime stories under the stars. Our storyteller was fantastic! We all had trouble getting to sleep…although I was all tucked in around 6:05 p.m. while Little Guy watched TV.

It was sunny when we headed home, but after an hour or so, we were driving parallel to a thunderstorm. The lightning bolts really stood out against the dark sky. It wasn’t until we got off the highway and stopped at the first intersection, that we realized just how close it was. The lightning streak and the crash made me jump in my seat. If I had been sleepy before, I was now wide awake. The storm crossed our path the rest of the way home, and when we within 5 minutes of home, the heavens gave way with torrential rain and hail. We were going to pick up burgers for supper, but we went straight home instead. The sun was almost out when we pulled in the carport. It was still pouring so we just left everything in the car and ran for it. Hot dogs for supper!

Even though I had my own queen-sized bed at the hotel, I didn’t sleep well with my 2 guys on either side of me, so I’m planning to have a quiet day today. We’ll see! Little Guy had trouble getting to sleep away from home too. I finally sat by him and just stroked his head, and he was asleep in less than 10 minutes. On the plus side, I was hardly the worst-dressed there. I survived appearing in public in a bathing suit.

No More “Moo” Suit

Tags

bathing suit, cry, fashion, humour, shopping

There are certain items of clothing which most women hate shopping for, regardless of age, shape, or style. Maybe it’s because the mirrors in those tiny change room leave no room to the imagination…or maybe it’s because lycra is so unforgiving…but very, very few women enjoy shopping for the dreaded bathing suit. One piece, tankini, bikini – I don’t care if you’re size 2 or size 12, there’s something about bathing suit shopping that just makes us feel vulnerable! I usually end up empty handed and heavy hearted (more like a limp dish rag, sobbing inconsolably)!

We’re taking Little Guy on for a mini vacation…to a big indoor waterpark. I don’t like to be cold, I don’t like to be wet, and I definitely don’t like to appear in public in a bathing suit. And even though I bought a new suit last year (from a catalogue), it is rated PG-13…so Saturday afternoon, after a great deal of hemming and hawing, I went shopping for a G-rated suit!

I didn’t follow my own rules for shopping. I didn’t “dress for success” which was just as well…by the time I parked and walked into the shopping centre I looked like a cross between a dumpy “soccer Mom” and a wet dog! It was raining. I did pop in a cd on the way over with loud, “rocker-chick” music to attempt to feel “empowered”. It just gave me a headache!

I started by giving myself permission to browse through my favourite clothing store before heading to where I might find dreaded suits. I browsed a long time. I finally headed into a lingerie store thinking “don’t buy a ‘moo’ suit”. I should explain! A few years ago I bought a one-piece bathing suit reminiscent of the 1950’s, in a white and black floral print. I thought I was daring to wear such a vibrant print. But in talking to Hubby right before heading out the door, I found out it had reminded him of a cow print. Why would anyone who’s self-conscious in a bathing suit wear a cow print? Then he suggested I go for “leopard”.

The sales clerk in the first store tried to be helpful. I didn’t even care about colour or pattern…just fit! The difficulty is that I am tiny around but I am “heavy” on top (that was her remark, just the type I need to here right before stripping down and strapping on lycra) so any bathing suit with postage stamp cups won’t work! I tried on several suits including a white, green and purple horizontal stripe print (yeah…that’s flattering, she says dripping sarcasm). I made a hurried exit and headed to a bathing suit store, determined not to hold tightly to my self-fulfilling prophesy that this would all end badly!

At store #2, the 12 year old sales clerk was too busy eating noodles and talking on the phone to pay any attention to me…I kind of liked that! And this store had some actual sizes, not just XL. I picked through suits held together with strings, backless numbers, strapless numbers, with a mounting sense of dread. I finally resolved to try the 3 “least objectionable and most likely to succeed” and crawled into the dark, back corner change room. The first suit was a snake skin print (it was the closest I could get to leopard) and it looked ok, although it was still PG-13. I later described it to Hubby as something I could wear in a Whitesnake video, and I could hear him shudder through the phone! The next print was a cute suit with black & white checks and lace…I could hear Hubby asking me why I bought a tablecloth…so moving on…

To make a long story short, the last suit was the best suit. It’s a strapless tankini with black bottoms and a printed top…it comes with straps so it will remain G-Rated. The top has horizontal stripes (I know, I know…) but they’re very thin and brightly coloured – orange, red, black, gold, white… no postage stamp cups…I’m happy and I’ve worked up the nerve to show Hubby. I hope I have the nerve to wear it in public now…and no, I won’t post pictures, at least not with me in it! But I can say, no more “moo” suit!

 

 

 

The Path to Bikinis…

Tags

bathing suit, bikini, fashion, history

It’s warming up again and bathing suit season is fast approaching – way too fast in my opinion!! Why do those who shouldn’t wear bikinis, insist on wearing bikinis? I’m want to celebrate their confidence, but aren’t there some things that are just better left to the imagination? How has swimwear changed over the last hundred years or so, and when did modesty go out the window?

In the 18th century, “bathing” was fashionable but exposed skin mustn’t be touched by the sun. I can’t imagine wearing a long-sleeved gown over pants, a short scarf, kid gloves, and sandals, to the beach. Some ladies even added weights to the hem of their gowns to keep their legs covered.

In the 1890s, women wore the more familiar black, knee-length, puffed-sleeve wool dress, often with a sailor collar, and worn over bloomers with ribbons and bows. Don’t forget to accessorize with long black stockings, bathing slippers, and cap.

Camouflaging the female form (I like that idea) started to change in 1910 with one piece garments made from a wool knit that fit when dry, but sagged and dragged when wet. More skin was exposed between the bottom of the suit and the top of the stockings. Shocking!

Corset manufacturers tapped into the bathing suit market in the 1940’s by designing garments that hid faults in a woman’s shape by adding stretch tummy control panels, as well as bra cups and boning for bust support (yeah Baby)! Add halter top and skirted bottoms made from cotton with a jersey knit lining. Accessorize with a sun hat and sun glasses!

By the 1950’s, Moms and daughters wore matching suits, and the combination of pink and black was popular. An early form of spandex was being used to make the suits more figure-flattering. Boy legs were introduced in the late 1950’s. Suits were also fancier with dressmaker touches like rick-rack trim and buttons. Matching skirts worn over the suit made them look like a sundress. And don’t forget your flowered bathing cap to protect your perfect hair-do!

Two piece suits became popular in the 1960’s which led to the popularity of bikinis in the 1970’s. Bikinis have been recorded in 200 A.D. but not patented until 1946. Bikinis keep shrinking – the G-string or even more revealing, the thong also called the Brazilian tanga.

And that is where I’m stopping… because I have never had the confidence to wear a bikini, even when I still had the figure for it…and all this talk about bathing suits is depressing…maybe I’ll be pro-active and go for a long walk — there’s a convenience store close by and I meet O Henry there!

References:http://fuzzylizzie.com/swimsuits.html
http://www.victoriana.com/library/Beach/FashionableBathingSuits.htm
http://www.fashion-era.com/swimwear.htm
http://www.flickr.com/photos/7726011@N07/5230882734/