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  1. #1
    Ducky's Avatar
    Ducky is offline Enforcer General
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    For the Ladies - The Swimsuit.

    Got this in an email and had to share.


    The Bathing Suit

    When I was a child in the 1960's 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 who 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 florescent
    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 developed, I
    believe, by NASA to launch small rockets from a slingshot, which give
    the added bonus that if you manage to actually lever yourself into one,
    you are protected from shark attacks as 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 vanished!

    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 only 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 play dough 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 which 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...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 home, I found a label which 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 an d a
    T-shirt!
    \\
    ` ` ` ` < ` )___/\
    `` ` ` ` (3--(____)
    "...but to forget your duck, of course, means you're really screwed." - Gary Larson
    http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MtN1YnoL46Q


  2. #2
    pgg's Avatar
    pgg
    pgg is offline Damnit, I'm hungry again.
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    'Political Correctness is a doctrine fostered by a
    delusional, illogical liberal minority, and rabidly
    promoted by an unscrupulous mainstream media, which
    holds forth the proposition that it is entirely
    possible to pick up a turd by the clean end!'

    A fear of weapons is a sign of retarded sexual and emotional maturity. Sigmund Freud

 

 

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