… is something I hope I never hear Barney Stinson say.*
And in the event that he does, I hope he’s not referencing either of these:
I did gymnastics for several years, and bodysuits give me flashbacks to accidentally getting chalk in my eyes after coating my hands in chalk like one breads a chicken breast before frying. Good times, those were, until wrist injuries and the onset of puberty ruined my potentially epic gymnastics career. And yes, it was potentially epic because I never progressed far enough along to have my hopes and dreams dashed by reality. So as far as we’re all concerned here, it could have been epic.
I kind of understand the purpose of bodysuits. What I don’t understand is why there would be a demand for early-90s floral prints. I owned skirts with those patterns on them back in the day, but the antique floral print doesn’t need to experience a renaissance. At least, not for me – never mind that a bodysuit would make me look even heavier than I already am. But in florals, it’d just look downright ridiculous. I feel that print should be accompanied by the smell of tuberose and Vick’s Vapor Rub. There’s no way for me not to feel 74 while wearing that print. A remarkably hip 74, on my way to jazzercise classes at the home, but still, geriatric.
*If you’re not watching “How I Met Your Mother,” you should be. Borrow the season 1 DVDs from me some time.