Humor

Swimsuit Season 2008: Busted biscuits on the beach and other tails

04/30/08 @ 02:10:03 pm by archivesadmin

By: Carolyna Shelton

Because I have an unusually keen grasp of the obvious, I have noticed it is nearly swimsuit season again. This news, quite frankly, depresses Auntie Carolyna because apparently this winter my ass has been sneaking into the kitchen on its own at night, eating butter straight from the sleeve and sucking icing right out of the tube. There can be no other explanation for what is going on back there.My tail is expanding faster than the universe despite my feeble attempts to run it into submission. I’m thinking of seceding from my own ass.

Because I am all about public service, I thought it might be helpful to offer some tips to help readers prepare for swimsuit season this year. In my extensive research on the topic, I have been reading Cosmo, Glamour and an unfortunate Web site that celebrates female body hair. I think this qualifies me as an expert in the area of swimsuit fashion—well, this and the fact that I know butt-ugly when I see it.

I have done some research on swimsuit fashions this year, and I believe I can sum them up in three words: too damn small. I mean, honestly. I’ve used more material to stop a minor nose bleed. So the average woman (and by average I mean one who nearly faints from sucking in her gut during pelvic exams to look better for the doctor) has two choices: She can put on the bikini fit for a finger puppet and look like a busted can of Hungry Jacks, or she can shop from somewhere that offers more “mature” bathing suits with helpful accessories—like awnings. I think perhaps the fashion world calls them “sarongs,” as in it’s “sooo wrong” for one to go out looking like a tragic Pillsbury Doughboy drive-by.

So, how will readers know if they should squeeze into the contemporary beach styles that belong in the story “The Emperor’s New Bikini”? The keyword is “squeeze.” As in, if they have to grease up to slide it on, I would say stick with the awning variety. Another test? If they can entertain their family and friends by making their belly buttons talk and make faces, probably, for the sake of all that is decent and good, they should step away from the butt floss. On the flip side, if one they are like those meatless people (such as those starving French models who survive on water molecules in the air and dead skin cells sloughed from the roofs of their mouths), they should also not wear the miniscule bikinis.

Now, I realize I will get flamed by those who apparently think this column is a legitimate source of information and who will say we should celebrate our bodies, no matter what they look like. No, we most certainly should not! On the short list of things I do not wish to see: Britney’s crotch, Dick Cheney naked, the women of the FLDS compound calendar and muffin-tops on the beach. There just comes a time in most women’s lives when we must face the hedonistic indiscretions of our pasts, and opt for the biggie size to cover the biggie thighs from the biggie fries.

But, alas, there are other swimsuit issues we must consider. One is “down-there” hair. Granted, this isn’t the issue it used to be because bikini hair has been disappearing at rates akin to the Greenland ice sheet. One can opt to wax or be sugared (see www.myspace.com/carolynashelton for more on these topics), but I must give this warning: Readers will discover swear words they didn’t even know they knew when trying these methods. (You wouldn’t believe what all rhymes with “another trucker.” Our mothers would not be amused at this language, but then again, if she knew we were spreading our legs for a total stranger to rip off our God-given furry parts, she wouldn’t exactly glow with pride either.)

Readers can also shave, but then they risk creating a hideous rash which can either be disguised with their awning or by getting a Sharpie and pretending to have a 3-D crotch tattoo. Hair can also be lasered, which is the option I’ve endured for nearly a year now (the good news is that while I’ll still look like a busted can of biscuits, at least I won’t look like a furry busted can of biscuits, and I’m sure that will make all the difference). This method is much more permanent, but while treatment is being administered, readers will question the money they have laid out just so a coochie coiffeur can force them to pull their bits apart and blast them with a death ray in places which usually receive only the gentlest of administrations.

The final option involves simply pretending to smuggle a chinchilla in one’s bikini area. This method worked for generations, and, quite frankly, I don’t know why we’ve gotten away from it. It’s usually very healthy hair with a lot of body; we could dress it up with beads. So, just what is the problem if it looks like we have a vaginal tarantula? I see none. So perhaps readers should hide a couple of bats in their armpits and a hairy spider in their crotch, and just be free! Celebrate the curlies! (Let me know how that turns out for you, you sexy beasts.)

We must not leave men out of our discussion on swimsuit aesthetics. I am told by numerous reliable sources that “manscaping” is de rigueur for the well-groomed manly man these days. This turned out to be news to my husband. I quite liked the idea of reducing the hair rug that constantly accumulated on the bathroom floor, but it turned out that a surprise attack on the hinterlands with the electric razor is contraindicated in the case of most relationships. Who knew?

Finally, as far as swimsuit fashions for men go, here’s an easy-to-remember rhyme: “Women love to see your legs, your chest and your butts—but none among us wants to see your furry coconuts!” Unless you swim competitively, save the man-kinis for when you mow the front lawn.

Well, I know I feel more secure about hitting the beach this summer, listening to the soothing sounds of the lapping waves and the voice-over hollering, “HONGREEEE, Hungry Jack!”