Monday, 13 June 2011

The Swimming Costume Story

A few months ago I posted about our new comedy doorbell. FYI it is still going strong, children are not yet bored with changing its ring and  the unwavering embarrassment it brings me lives on! However, in said post I mentioned The Swimming Costume Story, this was enough for your curious ears to say "tell us more..."

Well you're in luck, the blogging drought, caused by the marking pile, means I have no new material, so old stories are making a comeback. So, here it is, back by popular demand, never been blogged before, for your eyes only (apologies for over-hyping it really doesn't deserve this intro)... The Swimming Costume Story!

This took place about 4 months after my first child was born. I was pretty pleased with myself because I had shifted the baby weight and was on a bit of a high as everyone I met told me how great I looked - which was really a testament to how horrendous I had looked at the end of the pregnancy (actually that's probably a bit unfair to Waynetta). Yet I was on a weight loss high, determined to keep on going, so I bought myself a new swimsuit, in a smaller size,  online. But as with all things bought online, there usually is a hidden surprise. The surprise was it had very high cut legs. This needed a second opinion. I called my sister, who dropped in on her way home from work.

"Where's The FH?" she asked, holding the baby.
"Gone  to the supermarket with a very long list." I hollered from upstairs, whilst I wriggled into the Adidas one piece.
"What do you think?" I asked, trying to walk normally, fighting the compulsion to catwalk strut into the room.
"Oh its great. The legs are fine. Wow, you really have got your figure back."
"Are you sure?" I said pulling at the material clinging onto the tops of my thighs. "It feels a little bit Baywatch-esque"
"No, it's fine, you're just being paranoid."
At this point, as I stood on a chair so I could see my bottom half in the living room mirror, the doorbell rang. We looked at the sleeping baby, nuzzled into her chest, then at me, clad in a very small Lycra one piece, stood on tiptoes on a dining chair.
"Then my face crumpled with relief, "Oh it'll be The FH, he always does this."
"Rings the doorbell?"
"No, carries too many shopping bags back from the car, then can't get his keys out and ends up ringing the doorbell with his nose." I said heading to the door. In a swimming costume. In November.
"Are you sure?" she asked, cringing slightly.
"Yeah. Who else would be calling now?" I surmised, turning the latch. "How funny if it wasn't?" I guffawed, arrogantly.
And then...
Opened the door full swing...
Put one and on my hip, the other outstretched to the ceiling...
And shouted "Ta-Da!"

There, on this dark frosty night, struggling to keep straight faced, stood the window cleaner, who said only this..."Very nice. Still £4.50 though love."

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