Secondhand Sunday

I'm basically too lazy to think of anything new to say so I'm re-posting a "vintage" entry.

If you aren't in the mood for repeats, please feel free to change the channel.


"Say it isn't so!"


Original Post Date, April 1, 2010


I’m officially a member of "The Swish Club."



The what?

You know, "The Swish Club". Let me explain.

My friend Debbie and I worked together at Casual Corner (a now defunct women’s clothing store) in 1985. She was 23, I was 19. We went out partying at least 3 nights a week and our meals consisted of Burger King or gyros bought from a street vendor at 2AM. I remember feeling really huge compared to Debbie because she was a petite size 4 and I was a mammoth size 6.

Our store manager, Lori, was a 28 year old Slovenian brick house. She donned a large head of super teased hair sprayed hair, Lee press on nails and raccoon eyeliner. She wore size 8 dresses over her size 12 booty and when she walked, her thighs went swish, swish, swish, swish.

That summer, we went to go see Whitney Houston at an outdoor concert in July. Summers in Cleveland are notoriously hot and muggy but Lori wore pantyhose under her shorts. All we heard on the way up the hill to our seats was swish, swish, swish, swish.

Debbie and I were both horrified to think that one day our thin legs might actually touch when we walked and we would then become members of "The Swish Club" .

I honestly thought I had dodged that bullet all these years until a few days ago. I wore pants most of the winter to fend off the cold but a warm spring day this week brought one of my favorite skirts out of hiding.

I was walking down a quiet corridor of the hospital when I heard it.

Swish, swish, swish, swish

I smiled to myself, remembering Lori and wondering who the poor soul was behind me with the thunder thighs. I paused to fake adjust my shoe and when I looked back, there was no one there. I assumed they had veered off down a hallway and I continued on my way.

Swish, swish, swish, swish

This time, I didn't even pretend to adjust my shoe. I stopped dead in my tracks and turned around.

There was no one there.

I started to walk.

Swish, swish

I stopped. The swishing stopped.

I started to walk again.

Swish, swish, swish

Holy Mother! That sound is MY thighs! No, no, it can't be!

Swish

No!

Swish

No!

Swi

I tried walking so that my thighs wouldn't touch but it was no use. That just made me look like I had a load in my pants.

Well, I guess if you can't beat 'em, join 'em.

I've applied for "The Swish Club" membership card. I hear they have some great discounts on cocoa butter for the inner thigh rash.