----- Forwarded by Dan J Hyvl/HOU/ECT on 04/24/2001 03:03 PM -----

	Becky Spencer
	04/24/2001 02:59 PM
		 
		 To: Dan J Hyvl/HOU/ECT@ECT, Pat Radford/HOU/ECT@ECT, Mary Ogden/HOU/ECT@ECT, 
Kimberlee A Bennick/HOU/ECT@ECT, Jenny Helton/HOU/ECT@ect
		 cc: 
		 bcc: 
		 Subject: Choosing a New Bathing Suit

CHOOSING A NEW  BATHING SUIT

Apparently a true e-mail a woman wrote to  her friend after shopping for
a bathing suit.

I have just been through the annual pilgrimage of torture and
humiliation known as buying a bathing suit.  When I  was a child in the
1950's, the bathing suit for a woman with a  mature figure was designed
for a woman with a mature, figure  - 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 pre-pubescent  girl with a
figure carved from a potato chip.  The mature  woman has a choice - she
can either front up at 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 fluorescent 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 was 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.  The reason for this is  that 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 bosom had disappeared!
Eventually, I found one bosom 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 bosom spread across her chest like a speed  hump.

I realigned my speed hump and lurched toward the  mirror to take a full
view assessment.  The bathing suit fit  all right, but unfortunately, it
only fit 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
pre-pubescent sales girl popped head through the curtains, "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 serviette ring.  I struggled into  a pair of
leopard skin bathers with ragged frill 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 shorts style
bottom and a loose  blouse-type top.  It was cheap, comfortable, and
bulge  friendly, so I bought it.

When I got home, I read the  label which said "Material may become

transparent in water." I'm  determined to wear it anyway...I'll just
have to stay out of  the water!
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