Bathing suit malfunction

Packing my bathing suit for a recent trip to the beach with our youngest son and his family brought to mind the blue bathing suit saga. As a teenager I was aghast that my mother continued to wear an ancient, saggy blue bathing suit. Years passed.

On a trip to California with husband Walter and our six-year-old son, I found THE bathing suit. Hubby and I are not into water sports much, but that one-piece fit perfectly and was a gorgeous shade of blue with a slight sparkle. Fast-forward another decade.

I had the opportunity to go snorkeling—a first for me, on a field trip related to my work with a marine research funding program. With my nearsightedness and inability to wear contacts, I needed a prescription mask and needed it quickly. Harriet, a marine biologist I worked with, rounded up a mask. She also arranged a test of how well I could see before she turned me loose with the borrowed mask.

When I arrived in my trusty blue bathing suit, Harriet handed me a mesh bag. “See if you can fill it up.”

With the mask, wonder of wonders, I could see oyster shells and brightly colored Mardi Gras beads and doubloons scattered over the bottom of the pool. Working with Harriet was always an adventure. She managed to make even ordinary tasks festive events.

I stuffed the bag full and pushed off from the bottom. I surged upward, exhilarated by how well I could see. The instant I broke the surface, I realized most of the top of my bathing suit didn’t make it up with me. The blue suit’s elasticity had died. I slid back underwater to wrestle the suit back on to the appropriate body parts. Normally I would have been mortified.

Instead I was in danger of drowning, death by extreme laughter. I had turned into my mother, complete with ancient, saggy blue bathing suit. I got out of the pool, thanked Harriet and went shopping for a new bathing suit.