Be a pickle … be a gherkin !

Hello beautiful Souls. My message today is about being comfortable in your own skin !

I had a fantastic idea! Sharing a whole lesson learned in a changing room experience!

This sort of describes my annual costume buying! Living on an island as a more than middle aged woman sure calls for time in the water! Not to omit those suffering from menapause! The heat is on!

My message today 😊 smile ! You are perfectly imperfect! 👙

Swimsuits in the 1950 's, the bathing suit for the mature figure was-boned, trussed and reinforced, not so much sewn as engineered. They were built to hold back and uplift, and they did a good job.

Today's stretch fabrics are designed for the prepubescent girl with a figure carved from a potato chip.

The mature woman has a choice: she can either go up front to the maternity department and try on a floral suit with a skirt, coming away looking like a hippopotamus that escaped from Disney's Fantasia, or she can wander around every run-of-the-mill department store trying to make a sensible choice from what amounts to a designer range of fluorescent rubber band.

What choice did I have? I wandered around, made my sensible choice and entered the chamber of horrors known as the fitting room.

The first thing I noticed was the extraordinary tensile strength of the stretch material.

The Lycra used in bathing costumes was developed, I believe, by NASA to launch small rockets from a slingshot, which gives the added bonus that if you manage to actually lever yourself into one, you would be protected from shark attacks. Any shark taking a swipe at your passing midriff would immediately suffer whiplash.

My curvy figure can be a challenging when looking for a cozy! I fought my way into the bathing suit, but as I twanged the shoulder strap in place I gasped in horror, my boobs had disappeared! Eventually, I found one boob cowering under my left armpit. Now I am well endowed so it was a mystery! It took a while to find the other. At last I located it flattened beside my seventh rib. Or was it the 8th? (Do we even have a 8th rib?)Asking for a friend ? Called…Adam ?

The problem is that modern bathing suits have no bra cups. The mature woman is now meant to wear her boobs spread across her chest like a speed bump. I realigned my speed bump and lurched toward the mirror to take a full view assessment. (Did I mention I am well endowed? DD40 in this shopping check!)

The bathing suit fitted all right, but unfortunately it only fitted those bits of me willing to stay inside it. The rest of me oozed out rebelliously from top, bottom and sides. I looked like a lump of Play Dough wearing undersized cling wrap.

As I tried to work out where all those extra bits had come from, the prepubescent sales girl popped her head through the curtain, "Oh, there you are," she said, admiring the bathing suit.

I replied that I wasn't so sure and asked what else she had to show me.

Determined to keep an open mind I tried on a cream crinkled one that made me look like a lump of masking tape, and a floral two-piece that gave the appearance of an oversized napkin in a serviette ring.

Up I struggled into a pair of leopard-skin bathers with ragged frills and came out looking like Tarzan's Jane, pregnant with triplets and having a rough day.

I tried on a black number with a midriff fringe and looked like a jellyfish in mourning.

I tried on a bright pink pair with such a high cut leg I thought I would have to wax my eyebrows to wear them.

Finally, I found a suit that fit, it was a two-piece affair with a shorts-style bottom and a loose blouse-type top.

It was cheap, comfortable, and bulge-friendly, so I bought it.

My ridiculous search had a successful outcome, I figured.

When I got it home, I found a label that read, "Material might become transparent in water."

So, if you happen to be on the beach or near any other body of water this year, I'll be the one in cut-off jeans and a T-shirt!

Ps . Note to self! Love yourself ! I am beautiful and I have a cozy to wear to the beach this summer! I have a healthy body and some lumps and bumps! All the more to cuddle and keep me company. I am enough! Promise won’t go naked again! That’s how the Dodo’s became extinct! It was frightening ! Poof they all disappeared! Smile you are perfectly imperfect! Real Unicorns have curves👙

For extra motivation and inspiration to you buying a new cozy for the beach days. I live on an island…that’s everyday! Well, almost !

Before you begin this process remember to do quality control on fabrics. They need an extra layer that Lyrca rocket-launcher strength for the "lump of Play Dough" description, to get you into that swimsuit. Hello ! It’s change of season and winter noshing is still in your mindset!

I want to introduce what I refer to as:

“The Gherkin Manoeuvre”

As I struggled with that first, unforgiving suit—the one designed to give sharks whiplash—I realized I needed a strategy. My DD40 assets, my various lumps and bumps, and the suit itself were locked in an epic, tensile battle.

I didn't need to put on a swimsuit; I needed to execute the "Gherkin Manoeuvre."

The “Gherkin Manoeuvre” is a precise technique known to all women with a healthy fear of Lycra and a fondness for dessert. It involves getting a soft, curvy, whole pickle (you) into a jar (the suit) that is clearly one size too small, and which hasn't seen a gherkin quite so well-endowed since its fermentation date.

First, you have to apply pressure. A lot of pressure. You brace yourself, inhale, and jam the bottom half in, letting the high-tensile fabric act as a pressure-cooker lid. Next, you have to twist and shimmy, rotating your hips like you're trying to escape a straight-jacket made of industrial elastic. You are not putting on a cozy; you are compressing a solid into a liquid state.

The critical final step is the "Boob Plunge." This is where you quickly push and tuck the remaining overflow of flesh—the Play-Dough bits—into any available crevice before the Lycra can snap back and eject them. It’s a race against the clock.

The sudden disappearance of my boobs, one cowering by the 8th rib, ( how far down is the 8th rib? asking for a friend called Adam) was simply the moment the jar's vacuum seal took hold. I was successfully pickled. The only difference between me and an actual gherkin? The real pickle isn't meant to become transparent in the water.

That little two-piece is like a well-deserved, bulge-friendly trophy! Now that you know how to maste the Gherkin Manoeuvre, are you planning on giving any of your "designer fluorescent rubber band" options another try, or is the shorts-style set your permanent summer uniform? Why do you worry! You are perfectly imperfect and find the vulnerability to embrace your body always. Too many people body shaming and passing judgement on bodies in this world! Be healthy and be yourself always love yourself! You are amazingly beautiful unique Soul!