Remember how I told you that while I was on my Florida trip I got stuck in my swimsuit (twice!)? Would you like to hear about it? Too bad! This is my blog and I have nothing better to write about. Hey. At least I'm not blogging about what I had for lunch.
The first time I got stuck in my swimsuit I was in Athens, Alabama. (This was a precursor--a trial run, if you will--to the real-deal-I-almost-had-a-major-anxiety-attack episode that occurred in Florida.) The girls and I had just finished swimming in the hotel pool and decided to head back up to the room and get ready for bed.
I quickly established the pecking order for the trip and ran into the bathroom, declaring that "seniority rules." Once in there, after availing myself of the facilities, I attempted to take off my swimsuit.
Now, some explanation is in order here: I am, rather, um... "blessed" in the "chestal region." (Lordymercy I cannot wait to see the google hits from this post.) Because of this, I have certain requirements of my swimsuit--namely that it be made of some magical space age material that can support my endowments and provide coverage while still allowing me to look my age rather than 40 years older than I actually am. Lands' End came through for me last year when I spotted my current suit in the overstock section. The material sucks in my fat rolls and supports my "chestal region" yet has a youthful silhouette because it is a tankini. But it isn't just any tankini, it has a x-back straps made of wide bands of doomsday elastic (yes, this elastic could save the world). The x-back straps combined with the fat sucking material make for a tight fit. Really, I have no idea where my extra fat and boobs go when I put it on. Friends, this is some magic material! Do you see where we are headed here? Guess what happens when the material gets wet?
Did you guess that the suit clings to me like white on rice? Bing! Bing! Bing! You are a winner!!
So. When I try to take off my super-magic-fat-sucking-boob-supporting-doomsday-material suit, well, it's tricky. I have to pull the top off over my head and once it gets past my, er, "endowments" I hit the point of no return. Also known as my armpits. If I can keep going in one fluid motion and avoid my armpits, I am golden. If not, well, then my pretties, I. Am. Stuck.
There I was, in the bathroom of the Hampton Inn in Athens, Alabama, attempting to remove my super magic tankini top and I hit the speed bump of my armpits. I was stuck. I crossed my arms and tried again to no avail. I tried again. Nothing. Then I started laughing, because really, who gets stuck in their swimsuit? And this was where Maggie started knocking on the door and saying "Ma'am? Ma'am? What are you doing in there? Ma'am? Are you engaging in inappropriate behavior in the facilities?" and where I started laughing so hard that I was doubled over into a McConnaughay fit* and there was no way the swimsuit was coming off.
After a minute or two of laughter and silly quips on both sides of the door, I told Maggie that I was stuck in my swimsuit.
"How does somebody get stuck in their swimsuit?" she quizzed. "Is that even possible? What did you do to yourself? Seriously! Are you kidding?!"
I replied in a very small voice that I didn't know how I got stuck, but that yes, it was possible, seeing how I was currently stuck, and no, I wasn't kidding. I was really and truly stuck. In my swimsuit. Because clearly, I am a genius.
After a few minutes more of struggling and cursing under my breath, I was able to gather my strength and get the doomsday material over my head. I breathed an enormous sigh of relief and changed into my pajamas.
When I got back out into the room, the girls and I had a good laugh.
I was all "HAHAHAHA!!! Can you believe I got stuck in my swimsuit?! Who does that? Seriously. What kind of person over 8 years of age cannot get themselves out of their own swimsuit?"
Shhhh....Do you hear that? No? Well if this were a movie, that would be the sound of ominous music foreshadowing the terror to come. Tune in tomorrow for the climax and denouement. (Seriously. Gross google hits are on the horizon.)
*McConnaughay fit= a fit of hysterical laughter that borders on tears, and often turns to tears and sobbing, passed from generation to generation in the maternal line of my family, usually only affecting females.
