The good, the bad, and the ugly: Story of a wetsuit

[This picture is not me of course, but it is the same wetsuit]

I told this story to my mother, whose response was, “You aren’t going to put that on your blog, are you?” Apparently, I am.

I had a conversation yesterday with a friend/colleague about the precarious nature of posting personal information on Facebook/blogs/etc. I worry about what people will think, especially given the fact that I know of at least two students who have read my blog (hello, ladies!).

As part of my oath to the secret-society-of-snobby-English teachers I also have to look with disdain at the current fad of confessing better-left-unsaid intimate details of one’s life and calling it Literature. But what’s the point of having embarrassing experiences if you can’t ring a few laughs out of them?

Yeah, yeah, I’m getting to the embarrassing part.

Brief review: I bought a wetsuit on Ebay. A neoprene instrument of humiliation waiting to happen.

It arrived yesterday. I gleefully ripped it from the package. I poured my legs into it. Nothing too exciting there—it isn’t much different than putting on pantyhose, frankly, and I do that every day. And I’m happy to cover the white white legs.

I put my arms in. I went to zip up the front and… oh dear. That wasn’t gonna work. I wriggled I wiggled I giggled. I figured, I lived through the 80s, surely I can get into tight clothes. I remembered a particular pair of favorite jeans in 9th grade that I had to zip up by laying on my back, so I tried that. I made progress, but let’s just say that I am more well-endowed than my wetsuit.

So now what? I think with enough effort I could [eh hem] mash what I need to and get the thing on. The problem is that one does not suit up in private. Wetsuits are REALLY WARM and you aren’t supposed to get into them until just before you dive. I can’t be performing the pant-pant-wriggle-squirm dance on a boat in front of other divers. I want them to save me if I’m in trouble under water.

So, I’m redoubling my efforts at reworking my bod, but I am no closer to being a card-carrying-diver-with-her-own-stuff. Stupid ears. Stupid bod.

And for now the wetsuit is going in the drawer with the belly dance scarves. (I’m not kidding, by the way—but of course that’s another story.) Maybe I’ll get them both out sometime. Sounds like an entertaining Saturday night.