Ten years ago I went to visit my Dad in Florida. We had been in the habit of seeing each other only once a year for over a decade, so visits were familiarly awkward.
His house had a pool and I grabbed my bikini and went for a swim. Later that day it was announced that we would be going "swimsuit shopping".
We went to 3 different stores and I tried on 15 suits at each...all one-pieces. Fine, I thought, there are plenty of sylish one-pieces. And yes, it's very wierd modeling swimsuits for your estranged father and stepmother...suit after suit rejected with no explanation.
And then, over the door, my stepmother slings IT---the suit I would eventually refer to as Barbara Bush...a black speedo tank. The most unflattering and unstylish thing a girl could wear, cleavage obscuring and stumpy-leg making. I stepped out and my Dad says, "That's it! A complete CLASSIC! It doesn't get any more chic and simple!"
and I have worn no other suit in the state of Florida since.
Even though worn only 6 or 7 times, it had become the victim of disintegration.. resulting in something far more obscene than the bikini of 1997.
I took one more symbolic swim and then gave it a burial at sea.
My dad had no recollection of the swimsuit's origin.
