The Suit

Saturday, March 26, 2011

Dear Diary,

Tonight was different. Tonight told me I am officially older than younger.

It handed me a piece of my past, but this time, I was on the other side of the coin.

It held up a mirror to now see my mother more clearly than I could myself at age fifteen.

Let me explain.

My beautiful, fifteen year old niece was at our house for the weekend.

 After the marathon on Saturday night (that's what I call 'going out to dinner with five children'), we sat slumped at the kitchen table. I half-heartedly suggested Netflix. But that was 'so last night'. The kiddos had been swiftly put to bed with the usual, but even more ramped-up routine: kiss, kiss, prayer, no water, gotta go, see ya, bye, take care. I had changed into my 'lounge wear' (knit black pj's that, if something tragic should happen to me, would be the perfect choice of my garments to distribute to my children, as they spend so much time on my body, it would take years for my scent to dissolve).  It was, however, decided that since it was 'only' 8pm, her and I could go out on the town.

So back into my clothes I went. I felt so wild and crazy...going out AFTER I had already put my pj's on!!!

We did what any good American teenage girl would prefer to do.

We paid homage to our local mall.

It was decided we look for a cute summer dress for her, since it was such a special treat for her to be here with us. As I perused the jr. section of said store and went to select something to show her, the realization of what my mother had gone through years ago dawned up me. She was a few aisles over. I called her name. I held up a dress I thought was cute. She gave me a polite "thanks, but ah, no.' expression (she's not my daughter. I realize the politeness factor will probably not be there for my own.

 It is hard to find modest, but cute clothing. Very hard.

I was dumb enough to keep trying...and then I stopped. I stopped because I had suddenly recalled a painful memory. The beginning of it had occurred in that very same mall many moons ago during a bathing suit shopping trip with my mom. What I did not realize after that shopping trip, was that my mother had done what few mothers in the history of mother/daughter swim suit shopping ever got away with. She had convinced me that I liked what she preferred!

 I had been invited to a youth group pool party by a friend. This pool party was to be held at the home of a guy I had a long-time crush on. It was a long-distance (in that the distance from his reality and mine was light years) crush that I was hoping to bring to fruition by revealing both my fun personality and athletic (oh boy), yet curvy form poolside. Or, at the very least, that I was alive.

As I was at a rather awkward stage of growth, the swimsuits stuffed at the back of my bottom dresser drawer were not up to par. Not for this event. The suit worn to this pool party had to say both 'Where have you been all my life' AND 'You were BORN to wear this swimsuit'. An offer to go out later on would suit me just fine too. And so, mother and I traipsed to the mall. She had no idea how much was riding on my next piece of swimwear.

There was tension, as there always was, when shopping with mom during those years. It was mid-day, and thus a low-risk time of running into friends who would see me shopping with her (i feel bad even writing that now, but that's how I felt at 15!). I could smell her Liz Claiborne perfume as she wafted through the aisles of polyester swimwear in the Women's-not Juniors! (shoulda been a small red flag there)-section.

After what seemed like an hour, my head grew weary of nodding 'no' at the overly modest suits that would suddenly appear dangling mid-air three rows across from me and I took a couple of suits to try on in the dressing room. Nothing satisfied. That's when she came to my changing room door, breathless,  a tired look of desperate hope all over her face as she held up The Suit.

"Please, Jeane`. Just for me. Try it on. I really think you will love it. Please?"

So I did. And when I came out, the way she buttered me up was legendary...

"If I had legs like that, I'd wear that suit to church, to bed and every where in between".

"That makes your waist look SO skinny!!"

"Those colors could not make you look tanner if they tried!!!"

(and that's not even a fraction of it).

And so, The Suit was purchased.

The Suit was and Anne Cole number, a decent designer name for women's suits back in the day. It featured a nifty nautical navy-and-white slanted stripe design on the top. The top, I should add, was rather blousey, if you will. Held up by two navy spaghetti straps, it modestly denied the appearance of any cleavage (not that THAT was a worry here). Followed by the whimsical top was a bright band of coral. Some might have called it a 'cumberbund'. As I was one who sported an unusually long torso, it highlighted my entire mid-section with a vibrant and tight grip, it's latex cords assuring a seamless swim.

After that came my mother's favorite part. The low cut, full coverage leg opening. Yes, the 'French Cut' swim suit was akin to a curse word in our swimsuit shopping endeavours during that era. Nothing high cut was going on Judy's daughters body. No ands, ifs or buts about it! Never mind it was ALL the rage. The navy bottom portion of this suit met my mother's approval and the greater portion of my upper thigh and hip area was securely sequestered under it's shiny blue casing.

She raved so much about it in the coming days, that I started to believe that I must look S.M.A.S.H.I.N.G indeed. Oh, pool party, come quickly!

The big day came.

I slipped into The Suit.

I made sure my hair was sprayed into place, but not too much,

as Rave Level 5 never does well when wet.

I put on my sporty shorts that I had also just bought (as I was hardly the sporty kind, but dare not let that show!), the cool t-shirt I had borrowed and off I went...excited to show my crush just what he was missing!!!

It was a glorious summer day. Bright blue skies and warm summer rays.

I was so nervous, but so excited. While I loved attention, I didn't want to take away too much from the other gals there, so I waited a bit for the 'reveal'.

When the moment seemed right, I casually slipped off my outer wear, and walked nonchalantly towards pool's edge. I didn't want to look directly at him, for surely I would see the stark desire written all over his face and I would lose my footing.

As the water level reached my waist, I took a look at all the other girls there...either in their sporty or french-cut designs. I was still confident that i had made the right choice. I decided to go deeper and as I did, suddenly the noise of frolicking teens seemed to take on a hushed tone. It was the disconcerting sound of murmuring. I looked around to figure out the source, when, lo and behold I both saw and felt a strange sensation around my chest cavity.

Apparently, not only was this suit nautical, modest and smashing,

It also came with a safety feature.

An inflatable 'inner-tube', if you will.

Yay, the 'blousy', striped material above the coral cumberbund had completely inflated the entire way around my chest and back cavity. I instinctively lifted my uppers arms, and then, in horror, sunk to knees...particles of Rave hairspray seeping from the wreckage of my hairstyle  and into the waters of sheer humiliation that surrounded me.

I really don't remember the rest of the party. It does not matter any more.
What's done is done.
He never saw past my cumberbund...
...Or inflatable device.
 I still feel bad for myself when I think of it.

***

This story came back to me as I stood looking at my niece in an adorable, but somewhat revealing (to me) dress outside of her dressing room. As I gushed over one and not so much the other, I came to understand my mom's thinking...and the source of that look of desperate hope on her face.

She wanted so badly for me to feel pretty, but to also  protect me from the need to put myself out there in ways that weren't going to get me the healthiest results.
It is a very, very strange feeling when you feel parts of yourself turning into your mother.
Or at least understanding her reasoning better than your own at a younger age.
I suspect that this is just the beginning....
;)