Coyote and I were musing the other day that some things just can't miss. Until they go horribly awry. Remember, for instance, the paperless society? The four-day work week? Or the Senators' Cup prospects? In this vein, it's worth noting the 50th anniversary of that flirtatiously eyebrow-raising fashion, the bikini.
Upon its debut, only the most daring and darling of models donned the revealing swimsuit. Fast forward to your latest trip to the beach. While some bikini devotees still do justice to the outfit, many others may be better off with swimwear that is, well, more suited to their form. And so we have yet another invention that, like the airplane, is just wonderful when all is right. But one that can be no less than disastrous when things go wrong.
The skimpy swimsuit celebrating a golden anniversary takes its name from the Bikini atoll of the South Pacific, where the atomic bomb was tested. It's not surprising, somehow, that the nuclear weapon dropped on Nagasaki was nicknamed Fat Man. For people of both genders now think nothing of strolling along the sand in a minimal amount of lycra-spandex, no matter how bounteous their shape may be.
And so I, for one, cannot help but applaud our dear Agatha for her springfound desire to nip, tuck and tone. While Aggie is indisputably an admirable paragon of fitness and grooming, she strives to do even better by working with her very own personal trainer. Let us hope that unlike the hapless Sens, she can look forward to success, with no untoward incidents in the arduous months ahead.
After all, history records that none other than Priscilla Presley succumbed to temptation in the arms of her fitness trainer. But let us not be too harsh. Who knows what led Priscilla astray? Just maybe, one 1975 summer day, she caught a poolside glimpse of her husband ... clad only in a Speedo.
