"My Amish Swimsuit"

I could have sworn there was a post or two about my Springtime-inattention and angst, about a minor crisis of conviction, about reading The Phantom Tollbooth.

I thought I had already written about my desperate and unsucessful quest to find a film version of Five Children and It to rent after we finished the book. And why do I remember a a long,tear drenched post about my socialization-infatuation and subsequent activity mania of overscheduling the Spring? About all the evenings sacrificed (needlessly) on the altar of YMCA activities?

Could all those potential blogs really have passed me by?

I'd feel guilty if all my dear, devoted readers weren't non-existent and non-interested to boot.

Well, at any rate, summer is upon us.

Of course, here in the g-forsaken desert it's been in the upper 90's for at least a month regardless of season. We spent 7 hours melting in the sun at Scote's flag football playoffs two weeks ago and I swear my feet are still sunburnt around the distinctive triangular shape of my sandals.

A cactus could wither and die in that heat. And that was still Spring...Still mild, if you will.

Summer around here means no more Park Days unless you want 3rd degree burns from the plastic play equipment, no more field trips that are not air-conditioned, no more picnics outside before 6pm unless you are next to a large (man-made, as they are all around here) body of water, no more "Go outside and jump on the trampoline so I can get this done" breaks.

Sad.

It also means mornings at the Y outdoor pool, which the kids unabashedly love and I unabashedly loathe.

It's not the pool I hate (who could hate a pool in these temperatures?) but I am not so fond of exhibiting myself half-nude in the glaring, unforgiving morning light to all and sundry. Who can lounge comfortably with peach-fuzzed arm danglies swinging free and soft, burning pink in the sun? Fleshy lumps oozing from elastic waistbands when you bend over to pick up a small child, or towel?

I can't. At. All.

So I try to cover up the best I can without looking like a middle-eastern refugee or some pseudo- Amish religious modesty-nut.

I wear a tankini top that covers my whole belly, boy short bottoms two sizes too big so they don't dent my hips, covered with a sheer black swim tank that covers the tops of my chest that always want to pop out while swimming, and then a white swim dress overtop. If there are a lot of people around I swim in the dress.

If I could find a long-sleeved swim dress I'd wear it. I've considered wearing surf-gear but it would attract too much attention, since there is no surf at the wading pool.

I think this compulsive covering-up seems bizarre to most people, since to be honest my figure is not too bad, at least when it is covered up, and I see much, much worse flopping blissfully unaware all around me. I fluctuate, but have never surpassed a size 5P, but I am ultra-short so this isn't as tiny as it seems. Besides not being obese, I seem young enough to care about fashion and/or sex appeal.

I don't.

Never have.

I am also roughly ten years older than people take me to be. I still get carded for lottery tickets, okay? Last season's football coach thought Scote was my brother. But I am an unabashed Geek. Capital G. Sex appeal would be anathema to me!

I would be quite comfortable wearing one of those old-fashioned frilly-knicker-thingy swimsuits from the turn of the century. With some sort of oversized/floppy headgear to shade my entire face, and I'd still be happy to make use of one of those clever "bathing machines".

How could anyone think that dressing that way is oppressive?

It would be liberating for me. Isn't it more devaluing to parade around showing every one of your cellulite dimples, stretch marks, and with every single errant stubbly hair on the back of your thighs bristling for the amusement of random passersby? Fearing that at any moment a key part of your anatomy will free itself for their further amused scrutiny, and most likely one you used for a total of three years of breastfeeding (3 separate times...I am not quite that weird yet), and so as a result said appendages are tough as leather and impervious to the elements? So that, concievably, you could saunter around unaware of said unvelied, dangling, and unattractive appendage?

It is truly a frightening place for a woman, the public pool.

This post may be unintentionally coming across like I have a self-esteem issue.

Like I am one of those whiney "just-a-salad-for-me" or "if-only-I-could-lose-these-5-pounds" tiresome ladies, but really I'm not. I could look like a model and I'd still be more comfortable out of the scrutiny. I like my privacy. I like my private parts...well....private. I like not having to care about how I look to other people. Part of my introverted Nerdy-ness, I suppose.

Ah, the sacrifices we make for our children.

Sigh.