(photo: Behind us or ahead, the right ‘tools’ help us find perspective))
There is no greater horror to a middle-aged woman than swimsuit shopping. My own collection of swimsuits having seen much better days, I mustered the courage to venture out to see what was left on the sale racks.
My arm was loaded with at least a dozen choices as I headed to the too-small dreaded dressing room and it’s panic inducing florescent lights. If even one of the suits sorta kinda fit, it would be a miraculous day.
I remembered the 70s – my favorite decade – when a swimsuit consisted of a few scraps of fabric and a couple of strings. Now, struggling to yank these behemoths into position caused my wrist tendonitis to flare up. And then I heard it. First the whimpering sounds and then the cries for help from the adjoining dressing room. At first I thought I was imagining things, but then I heard it again.
“honey?….. HONey?…… DAN!!!!!…..” The cries became louder and more desperate. Then “Dan” answered. “What do you want?”
“Can you come in here please? I need your help!”
“You want me to come in to the ladies dressing room!?” There was panic in his voice.
“DAN! I’m stuck in this swimsuit! I need you to help me get out of it!”
I slammed my hand over my mouth so hard I cut my lip on my tooth.
As luck would have it, while heading out to the register I ran into “Dan” and his wife. She was a very lovely lady, about the same age and size as me. We locked eyes and immediately felt a sisterhood.
“Who the HELL sizes these things?” she asked.
“I know. I had to go up a size on a few of them, too.”
“Yeah. But at least you didn’t get stuck.”
Good thing. Gary was home mowing the lawn and I would have felt kinda funny asking “Dan” for help.
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