Bikini, You're the Bomb(shell) and Beach Blanket Blingo

Folksy Fruit Necklace

Bikini: Venus

Hat: Sea Star, Brigantine

Towel: JCPenney

 Circle Time Necklace

Bikini: Venus

Hat: Candie's, Kohl's

Scarf: A.C. Moore

 Retro Resort Necklace

Bikini: Venus

Hat: Candie's, Kohl's

Striped scarf: A.C. Moore

Floral scarf: Nordstrom

"It was an itsy bitsy teenie weenie yellow polka-dot bikini 

That she wore for the first time today.
An itsy bitsy teenie weenie yellow polka-dot bikini, 

So in the locker she wanted to stay."

If you're a woman, then you can probably relate to this timeless tune about the self-consciousness that comes with baring one's bod in a bikini.  We've all felt the sudden security blanket appeal of the cover-up, made the excuses (Aunt Flo's come early, and me without my tampon!), and longed for the cocoon-like comfort of Old Man Winter.  Even if you love how you look, there's something slightly nerve-racking about busting out on the beach in what amounts to neon underwear.  Thank goodness I have Tammy (the Torso) to do the honors for this (and every) post.  Ever intrepid, she has no such qualms about modeling a few scraps of well-padded Lycra.  (Also, she never got over coming in second in a Miss Hawaiian Tropic contest, so I knew she'd be game.)  Better her than me, and also better for the baubles.  Because less clothing means more real estate to show off statement necklaces to their best advantage.  The bikinis may be tiny, but everything else about these looks is super-sized: the colors, the hats, and even, for about a millisecond, the rafts.  

Ah, yes, the rafts.  We met on a routine trip to Michaels (where all such liaisons take place), me cracking down to take them home in my typical let-me-mull-it-over-first fashion a full two weeks later.  So, it was with much anticipation and excitement that I finally carted the inflatable watermelon, doughnut, and pizza into the house, my newly purchased dollar store air pump dutifully in tow.  The husband was amused by the rafts but skeptical about the pump.  "I don't think that'll work," he said, watching me struggle to attach the flimsy apparatus to the pizza's pungent (smells-like-a-new-doll!) plastic.  So he stepped in and blew it up the old-fashioned way, and for one glorious moment it reigned as fat and happy as any boardwalk come-on.  It turned out to be too big for my photography purposes, which should have been my first clue that I'd embarked on a fool's errand.  Because soon enough it began to shrink and sputter, air escaping from a cluster of pinprick holes that I'd accidentally made with the pump.  The husband gallantly patched it and reinforced it with air, and I took a bunch of pictures before safely (or so I thought) sequestering it in our spare bedroom.  The next morning the husband greeted me wearing the deflated pizza on his head, good-naturedly asking, "What happened here?"

Damn you, Felix Ungar, for making photography look so glam and easy.  Disappointed, I left the doughnut and watermelon untouched in their boxes, earmarked for my sister who has a pool.  This was nearly the last staging straw.  There was nothing for it but to buy a new prop, namely the straw hat pictured with my own (nearly) yellow polka dot bikini.  Prettily retro, it provides plenty of coverage and as such will be starring in my own (undocumented) beach adventures.

I think our little locker girl would have liked that.