Because it’s summer, 1,200 degrees and I have no choice but to take my kids to the pool every day, I need a new swimsuit. I was just looking at a swimwear retailer’s online store (I don’t want to say which one, so let’s just call it “Everything But Water and a Healthy Body Image”) and was amused to see that all of their suits have names. For example, they have a stylish little bikini in a faux python print. The name? “On the Prowl.”
Question: What three words have never f—ing described me while at the neighborhood pool? See above.
Other suit names include “Surprise Party,” “Bed of Roses” and “Easily Amused,” but the one that probably best describes me when I’m in the water is a kicky Michael Kors number called “Hammered Hardware.” Mostly for the “hammered” part, of course. I’d never carry my tools into the pool because they’d rust.
Now, if I were naming swimsuits that appeal to women like me, I think I’d go with some fun, sporty names like:
“I Had Two Kids So Shut Your Dumb Face”
“Skirting the Issues”
“Rhapsody in Tummy Control”
“My Thighs Only Look Like They’re Melting”
“Pissed Off When Wet”
“The Chris Farley”
Obviously, I’m sort of an untapped marketing genius.
Another issue I have with swimsuit stores is that they sell two piece swimsuits where the top is a bikini and the bottom is a skirt. I’ve never, ever seen anyone wear that strange combo, have you? Because usually if your bottom is in a skirt, your top’s in the Witness Protection program, too, so what gives? Do any of you swing this way? Or is it just female centaurs who opt for this look?
But I guess I should just be happy that I have an actual swimsuit to wear because the other day, I noticed the list of what’s not allowed in the pool (5th line):
Yeah, that’s right. No YACHT PANTS allowed. Like Thurston Howell the Third is just dying to throw back a dry martini, adjust his ascot, then jump fully clothed into our pool so he can discuss NASCAR with my weird neighbor Gary while loose swim diapers float past his face like crap-covered lily pads. Honestly, HOA. Pull your heads out. It’s a Texas subdivision, not West Egg, you numbnuts.
I told my friend Nancy that I also noticed “makeshift bathing suits” aren’t allowed and she replied, “That reminds me, I have to put bread bags, twist ties, and a tube sock in the beach bag.” Seriously, do they really think one of the suburban wankers is suddenly going to get a wild hair and go all Project Runway or something? It’s hot, it’s sticky and the kids are on vacation, so about the last thing I want to do is create my new swimsuit out of used margarine dishes and glitter. But then again, if I did, I guess I’d get to give it a name, right? In fact, maybe even a really cool name like, “Hot Buttered Babybutt” or “I Can’t Believe It’s Not Lipo-ed” or “Spread Me.” Huh.
Anyone seen the tape?
Looking for a suit? Check out my Swimsuit Buying Guide.