WHY I NEVER COULD HAVE BEEN A "BAYWATCH BABE"

This year, I finally have an excuse for not looking “swimsuit ready.” I mean, due to the pandemic, all of the gyms were closed (not that I’ve ever even set foot in one), nutritious foods were scarce (Oreos and jelly beans stay fresher longer during an emergency) and I didn’t burn any calories busying myself with the usual household chores, such as scrubbing the floors or dusting the furniture (because my dogs were the only ones who were going to see the inside of my house anyway).

So in other words, I am sweatsuit, not swimsuit, ready.

But I'm not at all concerned about it, mainly because I just can’t picture myself actually wearing a swimsuit and a face mask, or having to make a reservation to go swimming. So I have declared 2020 as my official “no swimsuit summer.”  No, that doesn’t mean I’m going to go skinny-dipping (please, I beseech you, do not allow any portion of that image to enter your mind). It means I’m not going to bother to go swimming or even anywhere near a beach in the foreseeable future.

The other night, as if to taunt me, I just happened to watch an old 1990 episode of the popular TV series Baywatch, which was about a bunch of young, nubile California lifeguards and the ups and downs of their everyday lives.

Halfway through the episode, I set aside my bag of Hershey’s kisses.

I’ve come to the conclusion that those swimsuit-clad “Baywatch Babes,” as they were called, who romped half-naked across the screen every week, were not, by any stretch of the imagination, real women. 

I mean, let’s face it, even if an earthquake registering 10 on the Richter scale had hit the Baywatch beach, not a single thing on those babes’ bodies would have jiggled. 

It’s downright scary.

I grew up believing that women were meant to be soft and curvy.  Nowadays, however, a woman is considered to be flabby if her stomach’s not hard enough to bounce quarters on.  Heck, if I tried to bounce a quarter on my stomach, the coin would disappear so far into my midriff bulge, I probably wouldn’t be able to find it again until it was old enough to be a rare collectors’ item.

I’m not even certain when the word “firm” first was used to describe the ideal female body.  Suddenly it’s no longer acceptable to have arms that continue to flap in the breeze five minutes after you’ve waved at someone.  Suddenly women are expected to have taut, well-defined biceps, triceps and forceps (strike that last one, I think it’s a medical instrument).

And when did the ridiculous word “cellulite” come into existence?  I mean, what kind of fool invents a word with “lite” in it to describe unsightly fat? 

"Cellu-lump" would have made a lot more sense.

Speaking of cellulite, one of the fashion magazines recently ran an article about “perfect” summer legs.  According to the article, perfect legs are free of cellulite and are shaved all the way up to the hips (without, heaven forbid, leaving any visible razor-stubble or nicks).  The article also said that one way to tell whether or not you have perfectly shaped legs is to stand with your legs together in front of a mirror.  Perfect legs will have three distinctly visible gaps between them: (1). at the top, (2).  just below the knees, (3.) at the ankles.

I checked out the Baywatch Babes’ legs and sure enough, they not only had all of the aforementioned gaps between them, they were wide enough to offer a panoramic view of the scenery behind them. I didn’t even have to look at my own legs to know they were gap-less.  They rub together so much when I walk, it’s a wonder my pants haven’t burst into flames from the friction.

I think the producers of Baywatch should consider bringing back the series but this time, instead of featuring Baywatch Babes who resemble Barbie-doll clones wearing circulation-stopping swimwear, they should hire actresses who represent REAL women. Just once, I would love to see an episode go something like this:

BABE NO. 1:  “How do you like my new swimsuit? I bought it yesterday on sale at Walmart!”

BABE NO. 2:  “I absolutely love the high neckline and the way it completely covers your breasts! I think it could use a little more material around your thighs, though.”

BABE NO. 1:  “And where is your bikini today?”

BABE NO. 2:  “I nearly herniated myself trying to squeeze into it this morning! It must have been that all-you-can-eat ice-cream buffet I went to last night. Luckily, my mother let me borrow one of her swimsuits. I think all of the pleats on the skirt add a nice touch, don’t you?”

(A female swimmer suddenly cries for help.  The two Babes grab their paddle boards and run down the beach.  As they are running, the camera shoots them in the typical slow-motion sexiness of the old show. But this time, the lifeguards' thighs ripple with each step. When Babe No. 1 reaches the water, she stops dead).

BABE NO. 2:  (Wading up to her knees into the water and turning to look at Babe No. 1, who’s still standing on the shore) “Come on, jump in! What are you waiting for? A swimmer desperately needs our help!  After all, we are highly trained lifeguards!”

BABE NO. 1:  “I-I can’t!  If I get this swimsuit wet, it will cling to me like Saran Wrap and will highlight every bulge on my body!  And you know how the camera also adds 10 pounds!”

BABE NO. 2:  “It’s a sacrifice we have to make!  There is a woman drowning out there!”

BABE NO. 1:  “What does she look like?”

BABE NO. 2:   (Looking through her official Baywatch binoculars) “Very pretty, slim, really white teeth. Oh, and the arm that is frantically waving at us looks nicely toned.”

BABE NO. 1:  “Let her drown.” 

#   #   #

Sally Breslin is an award-winning humor columnist and the author of “There’s a Tick in my Underwear!” “Heed the Predictor” and “The Common-Sense Approach to Dream Interpretation." Contact her at: sillysally@att.net.