Rose’s Room
I had to turn the news off again this morning. Wouldn’t the world be such a much better place if only we could click a button and make all this terribleness go away as easily? But I’ve found all I can do is hit my knees for long conversations with The Big Guy and be as kind to everyone I meet as I can. I’m leaving an open invitation for both.
If there’s anything I hate worse than buying a new bathing suit, I’m sure Castor Oil is somehow involved. In magazine articles on how to have a “painless” bathing suit shopping experience, we ladies are divided into body shapes. Pear shapes - smaller on top, larger on bottom; apple shapes - round all over, etc.
Of course, all the contributors to the article are the same shape… Barbie.
They say one bathing suit design will disguise an “overly prominent” derrière, another will draw the eye away from “upper imperfections,” and so on. The authors agree a friend or family member should accompany us to be honest with us about which design works best for us, if the color is right for us and to have lunch with us after.
I think these people should change their medications.
In the real world we need categories for lumpy, fluffy, overstuffed, southbound and severely dimpled.
Only one design change I can think of might have any chance of disguising my derriere, and as far as I know, none of the Fifth Avenue clothing designers have debuted suits sporting rivets.
As for bringing a friend or family member, I have great friends. They would tell me I look like Marilyn Monroe if I wore a suit made by Omar the Tent Maker, but I can’t see myself parading in front of them with various areas of my anatomy seeing daylight for the first time in many moons.
Family members are a whole different breed, especially the hundred pound one who thinks honesty is a virtue and says things like, “No, I don’t think the blue flowers make your butt look big, your butt looks big because you are not the spring chicken you once were, and because YOU chose to have Mediterranean ancestry, your children all have beautiful hair and skin, but every thing that goes into OUR mouths immediately migrates south, thank you very much! Can we go home now? It’s almost time for my midmorning lettuce leaf.”
What good is a kid that can’t lie to her own mother once in a while? I have half a mind to tell her she’s adopted and really screw up her weight-to-derriere ratio.
