Bikini of shame

I was looking forward to our Florida vacation. I was 12. I was a kid. I was developing....1...breast...at a time. I was lanky & bony & clumsy & buck toothed & had a perm.

I was excited to flee the 1 stop light, backwater farm town for the warm sands of Florida.

I was excited....until my mother brought home.....THE BIKINI.

What possessed my mother to buy me THAT bikini? Have ya seen it? Brown, KNIT. What time period was brown knit bikinis in fashion? It certainly wasn't in the 1980's! Did she hate me? Did she get a kick out of it when I tried it on? Did she stifle a giggle as I desperately tried to maneuver the knit out of my bum cheeks without looking stupid? Did she not know me at ALL?

At first I thought it was a joke. A twisted, mean joke. But she was serious. "You'll look so cute & so grown up!" I wished it was a joke....because the feeling I got as I tried it on & as she beamed with pride..... was a feeling of piercing, bottomless, haunting, therapy inducing humiliation.

The BIKINI of SHAME was like I said many times before...a brown stripped, knitted monstrosity. The top had to be tied around the neck & back. The bottoms were held together by ties on the side. Ties that more then once came lose. They loosened to a point that when I came out of the water (in the sparkling pool you see in the background)....my bottom came off. My BOTTOM....CAME....OFF. Sweet Jiggly BEETLE! THE SHAME! But luckily for me the motel we were staying at in sunny Florida was a dump...that no one stayed at. So even though I came out of the water bare a$$ed, my mother was the only 1 to see it. "You are so cute!" (I think she wasn't right in the head...really)

I did survive Florida.

I survived...the Bikini.

Back at home in farm country I felt I was safe. There was no pools in Farm Town...only a private rock quarry that my Dad took me to once in awhile to go fishing & swimming. (really don't know how I survived swimming in...a rock quarry that, at its shallowest point was 20 ft. deep!) I could jump in the water with my clothes on. I didn't need no stink'n bikini!

But then...my luck ran out.

I was invited to a swim party for my 4H group.

My mother made me wear...The Bikini.

To a swim party....with BOYS.

The Lord never did kill me...no matter how hard I asked him to.

I need to go to my safe place now. Once I have my therapist on speed dial...I shall return with the rest of

THE BIKINI OF SHAME.