Swimming in it

I went to Target on my lunch break yesterday to find a simple, two-piece bathing suit to wear under my clothing for an upcoming rafting trip.

The above sentence is wrong on many levels. First, that I could find a bathing suit in under an hour. Second, that this time of year would provide me with any kind of choice, and third, that I would be presented with anything that is simple.

I know it’s all back-to-school season out there. Which explains why the racks that once offered a plethora of beachy options now showcase long-sleeved turtlenecks and sweaters. Nevermind that we will not be able to take advantage of these clothes until, say, late October.

So I was left with the paltry clearance rack. It was full of two-pieces. But these suits were mere whispers of fabric, dedicated to only covering the barest of essentials. My basic undergarments cover much, much more. Also, they featured a bewildering array of sequins, brads, buckles, and straps. Some had plastic rings (in a lovely tortoiseshell color) to hold the front and back of your bottoms together. Others had strategically cut holes marching across the front of the waistband that made me realize that bikini waxers probably do rake in some serious dough.

For the top pieces, I was left with a selection of small triangles and shoelaces to hold it all together. Clearly, these are not going to stand up to a whitewater rafting trip. Actually, it was quite clear they were not designed to hold up to anything more strenuous than flipping over seductively on an oversized beach towel.

As I have never flipped over seductively, ever, I left the store in disappointment.

I do have a good bathing suit. I spent a lot of money on it early in the season when I realized I was going to be spending some time at the beach. It has a nifty halter top that covers my tummy and a cute skirt that covers everything it is supposed to. It even has pockets (pockets! I say) to hold perhaps a key, lip balm, or stick of gum.

When I emerged in this expensive creation on the beach in North Carolina, however, I noticed something immediately. I was the most dressed person there. In fact, my fellow beach goers thought my bathing suit was actually my cover up. Never one to be brought down by peer pressure, though, I was confident in the knowledge that when I played volleyball or paddle ball or strolled the shore I did not have to constantly adjust, tug and check that I was covered. My bathing suit was going nowhere.

Where my suit let me down, however, was when I went into the ocean to jump in the waves and boogie board. When a wave washed over me my skirt would flip up while my pockets flapped about wildly, loaded with sand. So after each wave I would have a little routine of spit-water-out, flip-hair-out-of eyes, and tug-down-skirt/arrange pockets.

This gets a tad tiresome. Finally I just headed out to deeper water so no one could tell if my skirt was up or down and resigned myself to swimming with so much fabric swirling about me. I wondered if anyone had ever drowned because of excessive swimwear.

Which is why, when I go rafting on Saturday I would like something a mite less cumbersome. And so I am stuck between too much fabric or, like the choices in Target, too little. Perhaps I should just stick with what I normally wear under my clothes and be done with it. I doubt if the river will mind.