Page 9 - Scene Magazine 42-06 June 2017

The Way I’ve Scene It
BY DENISE POYER
It’s June, and I need two things. I need you to not confirm this with The Husband, be- cause his answer will be wrong, but I need a new bathing suit. I only have 15
or so, and I typically retire one per year, so clearly, I need two more immediate- ly. Go ahead and rationalize the math on that; I’ll wait. The problem is that I, like most women my age, HATE shopping for them. Early last fall, my sun kissed skin faded to the color of oatmeal in the middle of a skimmed milk moat, so I am freaked out over having to cram this hot mess into brightly flowered Lycra, but it must be done.
Selecting a swimsuit is like choos- ing eyeglass frames. At first, there is the illusion of endless possibilities, but really, they all look pretty much alike and everything that is too bold, too hip or makes me look like Whistler’s Moth- er is vetoed in short order, so the choices are actually quite limited. I tend to think that all clothing in the junior’s department is off limits for me, and though I am not quite above wearing her trendy platform shoes with a 4” heel, I am waaaaaay too “seasoned” to fall for a Jessica Simpson bikini. My 56 year old business is never, ever going to rock that thing, and no amount of
Where is My Corkscrew?
reassurance from the millennial, chawing on her gum as she clears the veto rack, is going to change that.
Men never have to deal with this trau- ma, because their clothing is produced so consistently, they need not try it on to en- sure a good fit. As far as I can tell, our stuff is sized differently based on trend and price, right ladies? So, there is no grab and go for us. In the harshly lit dressing room, we suck in our guts and butts and stare dis- appointedly at that suit that was so darling on the hanger but has lost something in translation. Because we would have to call the Center for Disease Control if we did, we never, EVER try on swimwear with- out our “I see London, I see France” bulky stupid underpants, leaving us lumpy and bumpy as we try to get a glimpse of how big our rump is actually going to look in the stupid thing in public. There is nothing fun about any of it.
Nope, it’s not fun, but it certainly can be funny. First, I find that one, but only one, glass of chardonnay before shopping is helpful. Heed my advice here ladies, because that second glass of wine is a hairy liar and it delights in your headaches and stupid fashion choices. What you want to do is shop for suits with a friend – one who has also had only ONE glass of wine, or she is no help either. Even in your relaxed, cool-gals-shopping frame of mind, you might want to be mindful of something called a Miraclesuit. Boys, imagine yourselves wearing tight jeans in a rain storm. All of your pieces and parts are losing circulation, and all you want is to GET THE JEANS OFF. Off? Too bad, so sad, off is not an option, because you are stuck.
At some point, you contemplate chew- ing your own leg off just to be free. THAT is a Miraclesuit experience. Men could not possibly care less, but women, on the other hand, hold tightly to the prom- ise of appearing 10 pounds thinner and will put breathing on the back burner to do it. What’s funny is you and your best friend trying to peel your stuck selves out of suits that feel three sizes too small and funnier still is the clerk checking in to see if “everything is okay in there” because of all of the ruckus! In the end, the miracle is not the suit, it is the two women who are laughing like hyenas, making it out of the store without peeing their pants.
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