Twenty nine and change

I bought a one piece. Bathing suit. It seemed the sensible thing to do. I mean, I’m in the water swimming along, fins dipping into the blue, splashing up white and frothy, fish darting in between the fire coral below, moray eels mindlessly biting into the silted liquid, turtle grass swaying in the surge. A one piece doesn’t shift, doesn’t slip, doesn’t slide down to my waist when I free dive to set the anchor or stand up on a surf board or leap from the cabin top of the boat, over the salty life lines. Splash! I mean, a bikini just doesn’t compare in steadfastness, security, efficiency. Next I’ll want to buy a sensible house in nice, quiet neighborhood and get a potty trained dog and then have little rugrats who are well behaved in their strollers and don’t play with their food while strapped into a designer high chair and they will only wear one pieces, no cutesy frilly impractical bikinis for my sand covered toddlers.
I miss my tropical two piece (and my capricious youth) already.