Speedo envy

Well, the first of the skimpily-clad shoppers have hit the local grocery and retail stores. After more than 40 years of observing this summertime phenomenon, I realize I’m not really angry or disgusted by the outfits some vacationers wear when they come into town to stock their coolers. I think I’m a bit jealous. Yup, I’m jealous. I have threadbare-inpublic issues.

Personally, I’m a bit uptight when it comes to being in public. Yeah, I know you think you know me and can’t believe I’ve got any kind of issues. Well I do. I’m not agoraphobic. I don’t think I’m a fashionista—heck, most of you know my fashion sense is pretty bad. But I don’t go grocery shopping in my bathing suit (covered up or otherwise), nor do I wear pyjama pants or my gardening clothes. I have rushed into the grocer or pharmacy in my gym clothes, but—believe me—my gym clothes cover a lot of the concerns I have about myself. I don’t know why I’m like this. Maybe it’s the way I was brought up.

My mom had a thing about how all seven of her children looked to the public. We went to school in clean everything, every day. All of our clothes were neatly pressed and everyone had to pass hair inspection before we headed out to the bus stop. Back in those days, we were a camping family. It was one way to have a vacation with seven kids in tow and not have to pay for a mom and dad’s room, a girls’ room and a boys’ room. Mom spent almost as much time packing our clothes for our weeks away as she did selecting the mess of food, creating the menus and making sure the medical kit was in order. While we were camping, we were was not allowed to wear the same t-shirt or shorts or undies two days in a row.

Even in a provincial park, Mom had a dress code. Socks were optional except when we wore sneakers. Shoes were not optional. If you do the math, the number of shirts, shorts, socks, shoes, long-pants, sweaters and rain gear meant there would be at least one visit to a laundromat during a two-week trip. And we’d have one clean outfit to wear to the laundromat.

Timing for laundry was crucial. Things weren’t much different around our house. We weren’t allowed to play outside in dirty or torn clothing. Mom, I believe, was worried about what the neighbours would think, what with seven kids and all, and we were by no means the largest family in the neighbourhood. Mom was a dynamo and, in her day, a true fashion plate. Even with seven kids, one aunt, my dad and an occasional host of visitors from faraway places to keep her on her toes, Mom usually looked like she was just about to pour tea for the ladies.

Mom was from the spit-in-the-hankyand- wipe-the-goober-from-the-face generation. Oh, we wore bathing suits, but only at the beach or in the sprinkler. No running across the street in swimwear. No front yard in swimwear. Swimwear was for swimming.

During the summer, when I’m in a local stores and see the summer wear—the bathing suits, sarongs with body parts printed on them, the diaphanous cover-ups, those Speedos with muscle shirts and the bare feet—I still can’t help wondering what their mothers would think if they saw them like that in public.

And then it hits me. Lots of those folks are travelling with their mom or mom-inlaw and she’s the one wearing the body parts sarong over her bathing suit. Right on holidaymakers! Spend lots, spread the joy, see the sights, and we’ll enjoy the views.

theresa@wellingtontimes.ca