Swimwear is Life - a Rhymed Retort to Suits We Sport

First toddling with a padded seat
To catch the items we excrete,
We graduate to ruffled skirts,
As we delight in sand and dirt.

'Ere long, we pick a racer-back
Of quick-dry nylon, off-the-rack.
Our bodies change, still teeny-weeny,
And we select a sweet bikini.

Between our teens, we catch their eyes
In lycra maillots, cut thigh-high.
By twenty-five, we grow more modest,
Choosing suits with tailored bodice.

Ten years later, spandex slims;
We tan in suits that never swim.
'Till middle age and gravity
Attack us with depravity.

We search the stores with frequent fright
To camouflage our cellulite.
The mirror lies right to our faces,
As we spill out in dreadful places.

So we wear gym shorts to the shore
To hide the parts that we abhor.
We stain our skin with tanning cream
To stimulate our self esteem.

Eventually, nonetheless,
We don a granny-swimming dress
With structured cups and girly pleats
To hide our ever-spreading seats.

Still, we feel blessed to swim at all,
To bake just like a butterball;
We tan to feel our form's improved,
And call to have those moles removed.

And yet, we clamor for the rays;
We long all year for sunny days.
Though balmy weather is our prayer,
Swimsuit shopping's our worst nightmare!