Since I’ve only been in water something like three times in twenty years it would be a mistake to say that I have a typical swimming costume, but on the rare event I go in this is what I wear: all of my clothes. I stay covered neck to ankle, without exception.
I could claim that this is on doctors orders, but technically my physicians have issued strict rules including no sunlight whatsoever not to mention no chlorine, no exertion, no fun….
Ok, they never said the bit about fun, but really, I’m not supposed to go anywhere or do anything.
This time around I packed in a rush and couldn’t find a long-sleeved shirt at all, so my swimsuit consisted of cut-off tights, knee-length shorts, and a ratty shirt from one of my book tours turned inside out (I never wear my own merchandise). This perilous assemblage was augmented by several layers of sunblock and an umbrella.
In the interest of full disclosure, I did in fact swim in the pool – it was awfully hard to resist given that it was at the bottom of the cliff face, and there was the adorable child clamoring for attention, and my allergies can’t be that severe, right? Wrong. But I was careful! And yeah, I worked in public health long enough to know that is a stupid excuse.
But anyway, on the way up to the room I spied myself in a mirror, my hair all wet and wild, looking nothing at all like myself because the clothes are so far off what I’ve been wearing the last few years. For a moment I entertained the thought of ditching the dresses and digging out my Carrharts.
Though I gave Ariel my black hoodie (with the explicit reminder that it had major fertility vibes attached) and can’t imagine that I’ll ever be able to replace it, so never mind!
Lucky me, the day I made it to the beach was stormy and dark, so I was able to frolic without endangering my so-called health.
Byron didn’t get wet:
You didn’t really think I’d post a full pic of my idiotic outfit, did you?
