Number 3

 

She carried the swimming costumes towards the changing rooms with a determination she did not feel.  Clasping them against her body in case anyone saw her and assumed she was going to go out in public with one of those on.  “Three items” she muttered to the change room assistant, and clasping her large plastic “3” she scuttled into the last cubicle, before she changed her mind.

It was the taking off of all your clothes that was the most irritating to her.  The three costumes were now lined up on hangers against the wall, in order of preference.  Not necessarily sorted by colour, but rather by “first impressions”.  Number three had beautiful bright pink daisies on it – a one piece costume, like the others (she was not trying to scare the children on the beach), it screamed summer, sunshine and seaside.  None of the attention she wanted, but she had been unable to resist bringing it in. She slid into contestant number 1. Perhaps slid is a bit of an exaggeration, it was more of a “trying to put on a wet suit” kind of scenario, but with a bit of tugging and tucking in, she was in it. It was a sedate navy number, low cut around the hips, high cut around the bosom, with thick straps over the shoulders, assisting in lifting the girls.

Swiveling slowly, she observed a dark shadow slowly creeping up the mirror.  She swung around to the curtain, expecting someone to be standing there, only to discover, to her horror, that the dark shadow was her.  Her rather protruding above the rear thigh area, slowly darkening the mirror.  She pulled down the bathing suit in one painful move of shrieking elastic and slapped it back onto the hanger.  Unfortunately, the sight of her now, in merely her panties, was in no way comforting.  Perhaps it was the beige, or the cut, but it was not inspiring. Well she had come this far, she thought, so might as well get completely depressed.  Number 2 stepped up for her turn. A more mottled green colour, this one had crossover straps at the back, reminiscent of a school Speedo, but still high up and low down in the necessary places.  Putting on number 2 had brought number 3, with its pink daisies, up to the front.  If only, she thought.

Getting into number 2 was challenging. The crisscross ended up being more criss than cross, and she found every bit of herself oozing out between the bits of strap. Turning to the mirror she saw what can only be described as a round seashell covered in mottled green seaweed and algae.  She looked like an ocean blob. Imagine that alighting from the sea on a hot summer’s day. It left her body as fast as number 1, which had in the meantime slipped off its hanger and was lying on the change room floor in an unwanted heap.

Well, that is that she thought. No need to go any further. Out of the side of her eye she saw the pink daisies, almost daring her to try them on.  What the hell, she thought, I’ll show you. In her heart she wished that one day she would be brave enough to wear such bold colours again, as she had as a young lady in her 20’s, when her love for the beach and sea first started.

She prepared herself for the struggle. It did not arrive. The costume seemed to be of a more stretchy fabric and it slid over her body easily.  She was now severely suspicious. Obviously, there was going to be some other flaw.  Looking up into the mirror, she gasped. Unbelievable. She stared. “Number 3”, she whispered to herself.

Looking back at her from the mirror was a beautiful sight. A young lady, resplendent in a floral costume with the most beautiful daisies. Moderately cut over the hips, not too low and not too high, with a crossover front, which flattered her bosom and went upwards into two acceptably medium width shoulder straps. She smiled and the young lady in the mirror smiled back. The young lady who had from the age of 20, loved the beach and the sea.

She slipped out of the bathing suit and into her age appropriate clothes. After ensuring she had all the costumes, she opened up the curtain and stepping out, glanced back at her reflection. Her bright 85 year old eyes twinkled back at her.

Handing 2 costumes and the number back to the changeroom attendant, she smiled and gaily said “number 3 is coming home with me”. 

The pink daisies smiled. They always chose well.

till soon 

c'est la vie

xxx

The Man in the Arena

 So when is being enough, actually being enough. 

Times are tough out there.  Not every company that got hammered in Covid, survived.  Many companies did and it is business as usual. Many companies are dragging themselves along, half winged, in a desperate attempt to survive. 

If you are in the latter, it is like the Man in the Arena.  If you have not read that little piece, I will add it at the bottom of the post. You see, when you are outside someone's situation, it is very easy to tell them what they should have, must have, could have done.  It is very easy to say they brought it upon themselves, got what was coming, never budgeted. 

My dear people, every one of us cuts our cloth according to our income.  And if I ask you, yes you reading this, if tomorrow your income stops, through no fault of your own, or is quartered, would you be able to cover your expenses month in and month out.  If you say yes, then you are either a) with a massive nest egg rainy day savings or b) lying. If you can easily afford a car costing X, then why should you have to explain why you bought it.  If a pandemic worldwide destroys your income, and causes you unable to pay, how is that your fault?  If you buy a house of value Y, because you can comfortably afford the payments, and Covid/Corporate greed/Economy/or other reasons, causes a company to close, pay late or other, and affect you, how does that make you inept? 

If you find yourself unable to suddenly cut your cloth to the income, but you make every attempt to scale your life down, that is responsible. When your outings and happenings on social media are mostly free, loyalty paid, cheap or otherwise, that is OK then.  Don't look at social media and assume otherwise. If your posts are sponsored, but also include a wide range of lavish things that you clearly state that you pay for, and you are financially in trouble, that my friends opens you to other questions. 

Why is it then that people must question. Investigate. Have opinions on your life?  However when those very same people become cash strapped, then everyone must feel sorry for them. 

In a weird way I always will. 

No-one asks to be kicked in the teeth, not everyone got where they are because they deserve it, no person wants to be doing sums 24 hours a day. Not everyone is fortunate enough to be in a relationship with someone who fights 24/7/365 to fix what life handed them. 

So for the busy bodies, opinion giving, judgmental and such folk. 

Focus on your own lives.  Just that. 

till soon 

c'est la vie xxx