Your summer choice: bikinis
You really have to have the body of someone built for nothing but bikini wearing not to feel ridiculous in this summer’s garments,
If I might take a moment to talk about my body? It’s a sort of meaty trunk of flesh, with everything, I thought, largely where it should be, ie 1 x belly, 2 x nipples, 2 x legs, 2 x arms, etc, the former in the middle, the latter closer to the edge. If there were a size 11, it would be that, neither obese nor emaciated, sturdy, effective, and yet, it turns out, entirely the wrong shape for a swimming costume. To begin with, the gussets. Usually there’s a selection of bottoms, from shorts to thongs, but this year, the fashion is for a very narrow chocolate eclair sort of shape that extends between the legs and up towards the belly button, requiring even the blondest of women to depilate almost an acre of flesh. So that’s the gussets.
But I was prepared for that, and indeed had taken it into consideration when selecting swimsuits, leaving behind a number of costumes that, rather than offer a covering for one’s genitals, instead provided a sort of will-this-do mental floss, like a hastily erected crucifix to show where one has buried the cat. But even the kinder gussets provided only a suggestion of arse coverage, the designer perhaps having never seen a human bottom, instead having only studied medical charts about digestion.
I travelled home gingerly, in this body that had been exposed to me as trouble, resigned to a holiday sat by the side, cheering the children on. Waving with a hand now revealed to me as a swollen meat puppet, balanced on the end of something wobbly, attached to a machine so complicated and mottled that it should not be driven in public, and certainly not in water. Thanks to this season’s swimwear, Center Parcs slides will be safe from the groaning problem of my body, for this year at least.