When I was 12 years old, I owned the perfect bathing suit. A one-piece Jantzen, white with a red and blue stripe that radiated down from budding cleavage to narrow hips, it fit in all-the-right-places. That Jantzen suit made me look at least 15. The suit was hot.
I wore it on the beach, sashaying my little hips. I wore it in the community pool for diving lessons, And fatefully, I wore it to an indoor pool at a hotel. The blast of stinging chlorinated air should have warned me that my white Jantzen was headed for trouble, but I hopped in anyway, paddling around in the overly warm water. A little backstroke, a little freestyle, a little doggie paddle … I was looking great!
How great was revealed when I decided to hop out of the pool to show off my dive. Climbing out on the ladder, I did notice that my suit felt a little looser than usual, but no problem. I was gonna make that awesome dive. Up another set of stairs, out on the platform, toes curled, knees bent, back arched, and a straight arrow into the water … I nailed it!
Eager to repeat my performance and to impress the other hotel pool patrons who were obviously now watching, I prepared to exit the pool again.
My younger sister intervened.
“Umm, your suit is green” she advised, “and it looks like a balloon.”
Ha-ha! I thought, Jealous much? In your black and yellow bumblebee suit? I’m working it, kid, and you are so not.
I reached for the ladder again.
“No, really,” she insisted, “you should probably tell mom that your suit is broken.”
“What?” I smirked, “You are like so … nine. Leave me alone!”
She shrugged. Who cares if her big, dumb sister looks like an idiot?
As my body emerged from the pool, I felt an alarming slap of fabric against my belly. Wait a minute, I fretted, this suit fit snugly an hour ago.
Glancing down, I knew the terrible truth. The tight, sparkling white of the suit was replaced with sagging neon green fabric. The bright red and blue stripes were faded to a dusty pink and dim grey. The elasticity was gone, I mean completely gone. The perfectly cute, perfectly fitting suit was now a loose bell of distorted fabric sloshing around my midsection and pulling down my thighs. I had to grab the neckline to avoid full exposure.
The pool had killed the Janzten.
A little ego died too.
Those pool guests weren’t admiring my diving skills or my streamlined form. The rapid disintegration of that suit was a pure spectator sport.
My mom provided a rescue with a towel.
The hotel offered an apology for their overzealous use of chlorine.
Mom collected $25 in compensation for the death of the Janzten.
My next suit was dark blue, racing back, Olympic style, and it NEVER saw the inside of a hotel pool.
Copyright 2009 Karen Napolitano
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1 comment:
She forgot to add damages for emotional distress.
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