BEAUTY SHOP TALK

by

Vicki Charmaine Bunch

Many people in Axel are in the final throes of a desperate attempt to whip their bodies into some kind of non-repulsive shape before splash day at the country club this weekend. I've been invited to bask in the glow of our local potentates by Fifi Ledbetter, whose hair I fixed for her coming out party last year.

"You've got it easy," Fifi said. "I can't squeeze into the string bikini I wore in Cayman over spring break. At your age, you don't need to bother with a skimpy bandeau or a skin-tight tankini. You can wear one of those matronly swimsuits that come down to your knees."

I already own one of those swimsuits that makes you look ten pounds lighter after you spend ten minutes putting it on--I don't know if it's the exertion or the Spandex. But what if you need to look a hundred pounds lighter? There's no suit on earth with that much Spandex.

If only I had lived long ago. Our great-grandmothers didn't have to worry about how they looked in a bathing suit after bearing fifteen kids. By the time they were my age, they had been dead for years.

Why, oh why did the defiant women of the roaring 20's rebel and start wearing sleeveless swimsuits with woolen leggings, flaunting their appendages, leaving nothing to the imagination? Why did they discard the charming bloomers and baggy bathing-dresses of yore? Didn't they know when they had a good thing?

Oh, to swim in a generous kaftan, like a purple jellyfish in a sea of green. But no! Americans are not permitted to swim in loungewear. Sure, you could do a jack knife in your sequined nylon jogging suit, pretending to save a drowning child. People might admire you. But, after a while, they will begin to wonder why you keep swimming around in your clothes, especially when the dye runs and turns the water teal.

Swimsuit manufacturers have taken a step in the right direction, introducing a line of bathing suits with pleated skirts for women with big thighs. But, so far, none of them have poofy sleeves to hide arm fat. Personally, I'm waiting for a turtleneck. Even better would be a comfortable muu-muu with elastic at the ankles, giving you the aerodynamic walrus shape that is so buoyant.

Can't designers see that we prefer modesty? That we are tired of showing off our heaving bosoms? Tired of the lustful stares of strangers?

On second thought . . . . When has good taste ever stopped me from exposing any part of my anatomy? Me in a muu-muu? Is anyone believing this after the slut column?

I'll see you on Sunday--or, should I say, you'll be seeing me. I'll probably wear my red velvet bikini with the heart cut-outs. Sure, there's likely to be a huge commotion when I take off my cover-up and the sun glints off my soft pink flesh. So what if a lot of snotty country club members resign? Like I give a rat's ass.

It's not my fault if some people have a problem with a voluptuous woman in a swimsuit. Like it or lump it, I always say. And there's plenty of me to lump.