Humor

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Sun good, shorts bad
by Dorothy Bentley

Warm weather is great. I love spring, and enjoy the local trails and back yard before all the flying critters armour-up. It’s goodbye snowsuits and hello shorts. Yikes! I have a shorts and bathing suit phobia.
Little kids don’t care. They done any old shorts or swim suit, not caring about knobby knees and bruises, bug bites and chicken skin. Add some fireman rubber boots to the fashion statement of “I don’t care” and off they go, stomping through puddles to their heart’s content. I don’t think I’d get away with that attitude. Besides they don’t sell those boots in my size.
Any mom will tell you that there does not exist a swim suit that is functional, modest and flattering. It does not exist. I’ve searched the world over (okay, just West Edmonton Mall), and it isn’t there. I’ve ordered various models from the Sears catalogue, only to have to return them.
Who makes the rules, anyways? What’s wrong with swimming in long sleeves and pants? Sure it adds extra weight, but that would be a plus, since it would take more effort to get across the pool, thereby burning more calories. And let’s face it; more covering up is easier on the eyes. So it would be a win-win situation to wear more clothes at the pool.
I’ve tried dieting to help my side of the formula. It was a very long seven weeks, which I will never repeat. I not only gained back the ten pounds I lost, but I put on an extra ten for good measure, just in case another famine came my way. You just never know when one of those zealous Atkins’ dieters is going to walk by and snatch your garlic bread out of your hands. Keep a tight grip, just in case.
I was made to eat bread. I love bread. My grandparents were bakers, and passed on their baking prowess to my mother who ingrained in me a love of all treats baked. She made strudel, tortes, Yule-logs to yowl over. Then to top it off, I married a man whose grandparents owned a bakery. It’s a dough eat dough world out there.
I’ve almost completely given up on baking. I figure it’s best to starve the old sweet tooth and stick to fresh fruits, but the scones call me when I walk by them at the supermarket. Oh well… One must eat. The rule of thumb (or mouth) should be to eat in such a way as to keep up an active life, not induce lethargy.
Why does our culture say the ideal size is that of a toothpick? I say go with what God gave you. Make the best of it. If you accept your food with thankfulness and bless it with prayer, it’s okay to eat it, according to the Bible. If genetics, appetite and zest for life meet at a double-digit size, so what? It’s only a number.
As an alternative to shorts, capris are the modest woman’s answer to warm weather. They are longer than shorts and cooler than pants. Good fit is crucial, or else they can look like pants that were hiper hemmed.
Enjoy spring, keep a tight grip on that garlic bread, and don’t even think about dieting. There’s only a few months of warm weather anyways.

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