Yes, I've finally turned into an older woman. Not just any older woman either, my great aunt Blanche to be precise. Aunt Blanche's habits and appearance match her name perfectly. Women of her time were of the soft and mannerly type. Aunt Blanche WAS NOT.
We children loved to visit Aunt Blanche- or Auntie as we called her. Only at Auntie's house could you stand upright in an extra tall trash can while she sprayed you full blast with the water hose. Better yet, eventually the can filled up and you got to slosh around in it. Auntie declared the public swimming pool to be unhygienic, she was a nurse you see.
Being a nurse in her day was very prestigious and carried with it a certain dignity and poise
Unfortunately, Auntie was not well practiced at the gentler ways of life. Auntie did, however, have a nice, roomy bosom. It was here that she ferreted her powder puff, billfold, hanky, and anything else she might need for the day.
Many clerks were simply unable to meet her gaze after seeing Auntie digging around to retrieve her billfold. There was nothing stealthy about her actions, she dug right in and when finished she shoved it right back. Then came a period of much adjustment until things sat just right. You couldn't tell by looking that Auntie carried a stock pile of womanly doo dads under her dress. We children loved to watch this since our own mother carried only her ta tas in her brassiere.
Which brings me to my adventure at Typhoon Lagoon. Yes, I "jumped into a tropical paradise where thrill seekers and chill seekers hit the waves".
Our first stop was the wave pool, touted as one of the world's largest. YES! We wade out to a perfect spot halfway into the wave pool and assume our positions; me standing and picking at a loose nail, Drew holding Lean and grinning big. The bell goes off and an enormous wall of water hurtles towards us. I blink to attention- are'nt these things usually more wave like? This big boy looks like the wave from that devastating tsunami footage. Uh- Oh
Kapow, Batman we are blasted most of the way back to shore. One strap of my swim suit is ripped off my shoulder---wardrobe malfunction my ass, Janet. It takes a tsunami to rip a boob out. We tumble on, stand up, adjust ourselves and gape. Then wounds from elbows to the chin and feet torn free of skin begin to painfully assert themselves-ouch.
And my word, where are my sunglasses? Ripped right off my face. We search and rescue. Discuss how violent that tsunami wave was & run out to do it again.
We assume our positions, but wait, what about my sunglasses? I can't reach shore before being assaulted by another wave. No time to think, I shove them down the front of my bathing suit where they stick out a mile and look ready to fall. It seems I don't quite have the bosom my beloved Auntie possessed. I quickly shove them farther down to my tummy area.
Tsunami hits, smashing, bashing, tumbling me. But my sunglasses are safe. All because I learned the lessons taught by an older generation. I have now joined the ranks of older women who stash things in their bosoms. Auntie would be proud.