The owner at my gym asked me if I had a bikini for summer. I think he was teasing, and he’s been hitting on me lately, which I think is totally inappropriate. So, I took this as an opportunity to give him a straight line and possibly turn him off at the same time. “Of course. I need one to hold my prosthetic.”
I’ve tried the one-piece mastectomy swimsuits. After the suit is thoroughly wet, the prosthetic sinks down and down, closer to my waistline. With a bikini, there’s no place for the prosthetic to go.
Or so I thought. I swam my quarter mile plus 2 laps. As the swimming season goes on, I become stronger and more vigorous. I climbed out of the pool, and took off my goggles. As I was walking to the shower, I saw the 20-something lifeguard starring at my chest. This man can’t even be bothered to watch people swim, and here he was looking at a grannie chest? Something wasn’t right here.
I looked down. Half my swimsuit top was empty. Back on with the goggles. Back into the pool. Slowly, I did breast stroke up and down the lanes where I had been swimming freestyle, so I could keep my face in the water. Nothing.
My swimming prosthetic is clear silicone. I asked another woman who was swimming to be on the lookout for it. She asked, “Does it float?” I told her, “I don’t think so.”
Meanwhile, my husband, the alien, was scanning the pool as he walked along side it. He pointed at a rather large looking bubble about 10 feet from me. I swam over to investigate. “It floats!”
I guess I gave the swimsuit a rough ride, and the prosthetic bailed. Now I have to find my bottle of water-proof glitter and paint spots on it, so I can find it more easily if it escapes again.
And the company needs a new slogan: The Prostheic that Floats. I stuffed the fake boob back into its pocket, and climbed out again. I never did tell the lifeguard what happened.