The swimming season is upon me.  I have some trusty togs that have been altered to do their job.  Keep it in and keep it hidden and under no circumstances  shall any thread detach itself from thy neighbour thread.  Every stitched length of cotton is under strict instructions to hold tight no matter how much pressure is on.  Link tight and don’t let go.  These faithful togs are in their 4th year so I admire their stick ability  and courageous battle they have to fight in their summer sessions.  This season  I decided I would go tog shopping.  Not something I was looking forward to but thought I had better do it before death of the 4 year old fabric over ruled its faithfulness.  I had to visit 3 shops to try all the monster outfits on offer and hopefully find a suitable replacement.  If ever one needs to feel depressed and down and wonder why they ever bothered to get out of bed in the morning, then go tog shopping.  I lost track of how many outfits I tried.  You would think I’d have given up after a couple of fittings but I was desperate to release my trusty friend before a catastrophic occurrence rendered me to be never seen in public again.  It was not an easy task but eventually after what felt like 57 nauseating attempts, I found a new pair.  The only down fall was a skirt around the lower half but I thought I could easily cut that off.  Yes  I’m a Nana but I am not quite ready for Nana clothing just yet.  I will stick to my favourite swimming shorts that are also hired to help on the  hide it all in, department.  Today the Grandchildren are here and they want to swim.  I’ve had a few swims already this summer but chose to use the old pair but today I decide it is new tog day.  I get out the already skirt cut off pair and engage in the activity of putting them on.  It is a struggle to pull them up and  over the Xmas storage department.  I have to double check that these are the new togs because they certainly were not that hard to get on in the fitting room last month.  Next I try to pull the straps up to make them my personal over the shoulder bolder holders.  Hmmmm another very tight fit and  I somehow get my straps twirled and tangled to the point I cannot get them over my arms and sitting in any polite position. Now I have to become an elasticated alien to manoeuver my torso through the restructuring procedure without ruining the togs.  Oh heaven forbid my grandchildren come looking to see if  Nana is ready.  Did I shut that door?   I am so tangled up and getting desperate to try and dissect and connect the openings that go with the body bits.  Everything is so tight and will not cover anything or go anywhere so I am forced to look in the mirror to see where I have gone wrong. Oh not a pretty site.  Oh my goodness who is that looking at me?  Is that me?  Where did all that excess baggage come from.  I am shocked at this new person mocking me  and not because my arms are twisted like Houdini climbing out of a straight jacket but because there is simply a lot of me that I hadn’t noticed before.  I don’t know where it came from and when it came but it cameth in a truck load and attached itself unevenly so that I can now see it will not easily go into the new outfit.  I hear a NANA!  in the distance.   Oh heck the girls are coming.  I shoved those lumps bumps sags and bags into that beautifully made swimwear so fast that my reflection could not keep up with me.  I sucked tucked folded and rolled it all into new places in lightening speed that defied my age.  “Nana’s nearly ready,” I call back to deter them from bursting through the door and having their vision ruined for life.  I finish with my trusty shorts.  Good grief even they are under more pressure than expected.  Maybe it is true and that there is something in the closet that makes your clothes shrink every year.  So unfair and so cruel.  I make it to the swimming pool but it’s not pretty and I am so scared if I bend jump lift or attempt anything there will be a mass eruption of material going in all directions…..