Dear Speedo,
We’ve known each other for years, haven’t we? I’ve worn your suits since I started swimming lessons at the tender age of 5. I’ve trusted you to hold all my bits and parts in their proper place since before I had bits and parts to speak of, and even after maternity (and gravity) wreaked havoc on the geography of those very same bits and parts. Which makes your betrayal today all the more hurtful. I can hardly understand where we went wrong. Oh, SURE you don’t know what I’m talking about. By all means, let me elaborate.
The husband and I took the small one to the pool at the local gym this afternoon. (This is the gym where I’ve had a membership for many months and only rarely make an appearance. By my reckoning, today’s swim cost us roughly $100 per person. Based on what subsequently happened, I think anyone who was there today ought to have paid me for the little show I put on.)
I swam a few laps, splashed around with my daughter, noticed the kiddie pool was significantly warmer than the lap pool and thanked the inventor of chlorine, same old same old. I also happened to notice that I was getting the eyeball from a few other swimmers. Speedo, I wouldn’t say that I’m an unattractive woman, but this did strike me as a little strange. After an hour, we headed back to the family locker room and I happened to catch a glimpse of my back side in the mirror. My Speedo swimming suit is black, but I could see that part of it decidedly wasn’t: a 12 inch wide oval-shaped expanse that stretched from the top to the bottom of my ass. Please find the conversation that ensued between the husband and I below.
OneShoeOff: WTF is that on my swimming suit?
The Husband, poking at the spot: I was just wondering the same thing.
OneShoeOff: Did I get something on it?
The Husband: Um…I don’t think so. Uh, honey, I think the fabric is coming off your swimming suit.
OneShoeOff: No, no, I’m pretty sure I must have scraped it on the tiles in the pool. (This, Speedo, is what we call denial.)
The Husband, poking some more and removing more fabric: Yeah, I’m pretty sure the fabric is coming off your swimming suit.
OneShoeOff: So, wait, why is it turning soooo white…oh…no.
The Husband: It’s see-through.
And then, in that moment I realized that I was looking at my own buttcrack and a sizable expanse of both lily-white cheeks THROUGH my swimming suit because the fabric was worn almost into non-existence. In a flash each trip across the pool deck, each freestyle lap I swam with my fanny held high, each time I had bent over to help my daughter in the kiddie pool came back to me as I realized I may as well have not been wearing anything at all over my behind.
Despite the wealth of irate letters you may receive in the coming days from the lifeguards, swimmers, and sauna and hot tub users at my gym seeking compensation for the retinal burns that resulted from a glimpse of my glowing white tooshie, please accept my heartfelt gratitude for your part in keeping my life interesting through poor quality control.
Sincerely,
OneShoeOff
P.S. No, I will not be providing photographic documentation.
