Some belongings can bring you joy. Swimsuits are not among them
Sitting here with 46 other people in a courtroom, it is silent — actually more silent than church. People are reading the paper, looking at their phones, staring into space or looking at their lap. Jury duty. Will I be picked?
Usually I would be hoping that I’d be chosen for jury duty because I find it interesting and know it’s my civic duty. But this time I’m sitting here writing and hoping I will be dismissed. I need to be home working because we’re getting our house ready to put on the market.
My goodness we (mainly I) have accumulated a lot of stuff in the past 36 years. I am sentimental so I have tons of items that bring me joy. Aren’t we supposed to keep those things that bring us joy?
In one drawer, however, there was no joy. It was full of swimsuits. If you have read my column for years, you know that every spring when swimwear season begins to rear its ugly head I want to speak sharply to any person who has ever designed a swimsuit.
That said, what am I doing with nearly 20 swimsuits stuffed in a drawer? The only one I wore last summer is in my tote bag. And let me tell you it was worn only among close friends in private pools.
Looking at the selection (all one-piece) I nearly laughed out loud. A yellow polka dot strapless? What planet was I on the day I bought that bad boy? And the neon orange one that looked like a pretty coral color in the catalog should have been sent back. At the bottom of the pile was the striped suit that promised to visually eliminate 10 pounds. The only thing it eliminated was money from my checking account.
Seeing this extensive collection my friend asked, “Didn’t you try these on at the store?”
The answer is no. It’s difficult enough going in a dressing room, sometimes the size of phone booth, and taking off your clothes, then shimmy into an item that will not accent the positive, regardless of what the salesperson said. Not to mention, as I’ve said many times, it’s like putting a marshmallow in a drinking straw. If you’re like me, once you get the darned thing on and see flesh that has escaped the “straw,” you wonder if your immersion in water should be limited to a private hot tub, the shower or your bathtub.
And dressing room lighting is not flattering, actually the opposite. It seems there’s a green cast to everything. Note to stores: Put pink lightbulbs in there and watch your sales skyrocket.
You would like to see yourself in a three-way mirror because craning your neck to see over your shoulder doesn’t give you a clear picture.
A three-way mirror is helpful to me because I need to check the veins on the back of my legs — the ones that look like a road map to Kentucky. But looking in a mirror that shows all angles usually means stepping out in the common area of the dressing room where someone might see you.
My mom and I would shop for swimsuits at Innes Department store. Many times we laughed so hard we had to sit down. She had no problem going out and looking at herself in the three-way, and always insisted I should too. Heck, she went out into the store in a swimsuit to get a different size one time. The saleswoman nearly had a heart attack.
One time I decided to go swimsuit shopping in Topeka thinking that since I was out of town I wouldn’t run into anyone I knew.
I went to the dressing room closest to the big three-way mirror. Not being totally disgusted by how the swimsuit looked I slipped out to the big mirror.
“Well, hi Bonnie Bing!” a voice came out of nowhere. “What are you doing here?” she asked. “Just doing a little shopping,” I answered jumping back into the dressing room and shutting the door in less than three seconds. I asked her what she was doing and hoped I would recognize her voice. I hadn’t taken time to see who spotted me. Turns out it was my neighbor from down the street.
As we age it becomes more and more evident that gravity is not our friend, so I decided to order my swimsuits from catalogs or online. That didn’t last long because not once, but twice I thought they sent the wrong suit, It was sad how when I tried them on, neither looked anything like the swimsuit the smooth-skinned, flat- bellied teenager was modeling in the photo.
So now I have a collection of swimsuits, one with a side cutout that I always try to put my leg through and several that belong on a Hawaiian island. I don’t think they’ll make the move to the new house.
But here I am, still sitting in a Sedgwick County courtroom writing and waiting on the judge and attorneys. I’m thinking of all the work I have at home.
Next I’ll empty the drawer jam-packed with coverups. Not much joy, but it will be more fun and less angst than the swimsuit collection.
Reach Bonnie Bing at bingbylines@gmail.com
