Bathing Suits

I was going to save this one for later. I'm sure you are so very tired of hearing about my clothing and my closet purge -- I am even sick of it. But, since the swimsuit story was brought up in a recent comment, I thought I'd go ahead and share.

The visual is just thrown in for comic relief. I don't know these people but they sure remind me of some swimsuits I've owned.

When I came to the swimsuit section of my closet purge, I was once again reminded of every vacation and every summer for the last 20 years. I used to buy one or two suits a year. Some years I would splurge at an end-of-season sale and buy several. I've bought a few on vacation. For someone who does not enjoy shopping or trying on swimsuits, I have always had many and seemed to be on an endless pursuit of new ones. I have worn them all and apparently, I've kept them all.

They even have little categories in my mind:

Two-piece suits. Only to be worn on vacations. Never to be worn on any kind of business trip or to the husband's club.

Comfortable one-piece suits. Usually older and great for lake weekends.

Wild patterns and colors. Usually bought on a whim while vacationing somewhere tropical. Often with matching sarong, which seemed important at the time. Lived at the bottom of the pile until next trip.

Trusted standbys. Love them. Worn them for years. My regulars for cocktail corner. All of my friends have seen them but I will continue to wear them until they are worn out or I am.

Dressy suits. (I am not making this up.) I bought a couple of suits that were shimmery and not anything you would wear off a diving board. These were for ski trips that might end with a dip in the hot tub or other such occasions.

My friend Lynn helped me sort through them. Remember, we only recently reconnected and she had no idea that I had amassed this ridiculous amount of clothing. I think the swimsuit collection put her over the edge.

She made lots of politically-incorrect statements about the women who would line up to get my vibrant and glitzy suits. She made a tough clean-up job a whole lot easier with the laughter we shared.

The majority of the suits are gone now. I will have to make do with my trusted standbys. They were always my favorites anyway and I haven't been in a hot tub in years.

Stag

The oldies do everything together. I am amazed/impressed/repulsed/awed. I have no judgment; it works for them.

The husband has a pretty stressful job. I can often add to his tension. Throw in kids and oldies -- well, this man deserves a break. His release is golf. Then, it's cards with his friends.

There is a section of our club that used to be called the "Men's Grill." There was a sign out front that said, "Men Only." A few years ago, they dedicated the grill to a great man's memory and changed the name to "Jordan's Grill." They made it available to the secondary sex.

The card room is part of/right off the grill. There's an unwritten rule that when the guys are in there playing cards, it's off limits to women. Do you know the concept of an invisible fence for a dog? It's kind of like that. You'll get a little (beep!) warning before you venture beyond your boundaries. If you move forward, you will get zapped.

I go in anyway, although not very often. Everyone acts happy to see me but I suspect that they wish I was wearing one of those zapping collars.

The Country Club

We belong to a private club. It's nice but it's not that swanky. We belong for two reasons: we truly like most of the people and Big Daddy can play golf and cards anytime he wants. There used to be tax deductions available with our membership but Congess said, "No way-no more."

I don't play golf anymore. The husband plays enough for both of us. Now one of my goddaughters has taken up golf and wants me to play with her. I'll dust off my clubs.

The other night, we participated in an Alzheimer's benefit at the Club. In our group, we collectively gave well over $6000. That was the early count; I suspect the final number will be much higher.

The oldies love the club. We've started a little ritual on Sunday night. We partake in the fried chicken buffet and the father-in-law can have as many desserts as he wants. (I, of course, cannot witness this.)

Like all private clubs, there are some snooty people. My friend (and almost 5-year old) muse dumped a bucket of water on one of the snobby ladies the other day at the pool. In reward, his grandfather put a bunch of money in his college fund.