I was a junior in college when our family spring break landed us in an all-inclusive Mexican resort.
At the forefront of the main pool, that afternoon’s activity was well underway. About 25 folks lined up do si do style to do water aerobics in front of the ringleader, a Bahamian man in his twenties ripped up and tanned with a microphone headpiece.
My dad and two brothers were already in the pool area just behind the crowd. I sat perched on the first stair step entering the pool, about 10 feet away. We were all poking fun at the routine unfolding before us. Now, raise your arms straight out to the side and make small circles, everyone!
I was sporting a lavender and white bandeau top and bottom set that I scored a week earlier from Target. When in doubt, a girl always needs more cheap swimsuits.
The three of them were somewhat facing me in a half moon. As I started to laugh at another one of their charade of jests, something outstanding happened.
The low-grade plastic binding- the hook that secured my strapless swim top- snapped in half. Under normal circumstances, this would be a horrifying event. Under my circumstances, I was not only facing my three immediate male family members, but I had also been wearing a top size that was about 2 sizes too small.
Laws of physics can tell the rest of the story. Imagine snapping a very tight elastic band. My swimsuit top launched into the air like a slingshot, landing about 3 feet in front of me in the water. Just enough time to burn everyone’s eyes out.
I did what was natural to me: I dunked in the water while scrapping for my top. My male family members did what was natural to them: they nearly drowned in the water.
I will never laugh again at the women who spend $200 on a swimsuit.