And the Band played on
I spent the fourth by the pool and have some commentary about girls and bathing suits.
Cheetah prints. They are not attractive as underroos, bed sheets, and ... yes, bikinis. Skinny & Tan are two things they do not create.
I have a firm rule (and always have) that bikinis should not be made past a certain size. It is a generous rule, too, in that anything past Medium... no no no no. Step away from that two piece. Tankinis, over in the matronly department, shall we make introductions? That being said, just because those cheeks can squeeze into that medium- if there is anything protruding over the top: step fast. If the buns look like they are fighting for air in that tiny bottom covering the not-so-tiny bottom, than it’s time to let them come up for a breath.
If a crack can be seen- don’t walk, run. On second thought, don’t run, rather, discreetly skeeter away to the next size up, or, be bold! Two sizes up.
Sequins? Really? Unless there is a stage, a crown, and a hope for world peace, sequins do not belong in the water tied around tatas. The shiny beads will not hide anything but good taste.
To think, the parade of bad fashion started before lunch. In my blue tankini, laptop in lap, Georgia visor in place, I surfed (the internet) with Jimmy Buffett in my ears. A pale whisper of a girl caught my eye the way an impending train wreck does. The grand master of ceremonies as she shall be referred to. You don’t want to stare, but you just can’t look away. Allow me the short, short version: skinny, string bikini, and floppy boobies. And when I say floppy- I mean, seriously, floppy. As she walked, they went to the left, the right, up, to the left, to the right, up. She should have had two black eyes. In thinking back, it dawned on me that the only string bikinis I have ever seen were on Baywatch with Pam Anderson.
Which brings me to another rule: Unless an augmentation has taken place, skip the strings.
Why? Because someone might be watching and blog about the bad bikini choices parade.