Part of my arsenal of swim wear in my top left dresser drawer is a blueish-turquoisesque boy short bottom. To say I am overly fondly in love with those boy short bottoms is an understatement.  If you are a woman, you understand finding any piece of clothing that you think you look good in, let alone a swimsuit.  Most swimsuits do none of the body types currently circulating and inhabiting the universe justice at all.  None of us are probably meant to be wearing the likes of anything made of swimsuit material irregardless of whether you are an apple, pear, or boy shaped figure.

I've had these exquisite boy short swim bottoms for about three years. I will not tell you where I garned them as a portion of my reading audience might wince just a bit.  Origin is of little importance to me, looks are:)

I find butts interesting.  They really do come in all sorts of shapes, sizes, jiggle ratios, densities and girths.  God must have thought, based on the fact that he created us with the ability to sit, that we needed some amount of padding there to protect our tail bones and give us a bit of comfort. 

Butts in bathing suits are even more interesting.  Some people seem to have the sense to wear something that is fitting for the shape and texture of their derriere.  Others seems oblivious to the unwritten but known code of not horrifying others by their swim wear choices.  I truly want to the cling to the fact [whether lie or not], that I belong to the first category of people.

My blueish-turquoise boy short bottoms, worn with one of two bikini tops designed for the pre-teen crowd (and myself) who haven't sprouted full grown boobs yet, are losing their elastic at the waist.  Still, despite an occasional top of the butt crack sighting or a look up the leg to the woo-hoo region, I refuse to give them up.  I can't give up something that I foolishly believe fits my body type though probably not my age any longer.

Today at the pool I decided to take a dip in the water.  I knew better than jumping in as those boy short bottoms are far too loose to jump anywhere, including doing jumping jacks or even reaching to a top cabinet in the kitchen for a dish.  Instead, I walked into the shallow end and then swam.  Immediately I realized being in the water in general was a major, and quite possibly, a disastrous choice. 

There was no way to swim, not drown, be somewhat graceful, or even climb back out of the pool while holding onto my beloved boy shorts.  I was faced with a dilemma as I reached the ladder at the other side of the pool.  How was I going to hold onto my bottoms and the ladder to get out without losing them or showing some plumber butt?

My too big bottoms hung precariously low with the weight of the water dripping off them and no elastic to tether them to my hips. I gripped them for all I was worth with one hand and held the ladder with other.  I continued to hold onto them as I plopped down next to Doug on a chair, hoping that the water weight would soon dry them off so I could stand up without fear of losing them.

What was wrong with me I wondered as I laid on the chair soaking wet!  No matter the risk of exposure, no matter that those bottoms needed to be retired, I still could not part with them! They would yet again take me through another sun season. 

I am currently googling alterations looking for someone to put new elastic in my blueish-turquoise boyshort swim bottoms that I think I look not half bad in.  [Please note:  if you have seen me in them and I DO NOT look good in them, do not burst my false vanity bubble!]

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