Published: June 29, 2009 04:49 pm      

THEREFORE I AM: May I see your bikini license, please?

Freshly crisped from the South Carolina sun, I file these thoughts and observations:

Before you’re allowed to purchase a bathing suit, there should be some state licensing involved. I’m not a fan of big government, but someone needs to step in. The suits are getting smaller and smaller, but quite a few of the sunbathers, both men and women, are getting larger and larger. It’s a recipe for disaster. During this past week I saw spandex do things that its inventors never intended — stretched, pulled, distended, folded over, you name it. There were times when I pulled my kids out of the ocean for fear that an overly tight bikini would lash out.

With that in mind, I propose the following bathing suit licenses.

String-bikini licenses: These will be granted to anyone who looks good in a string bikini. Yes, I realize “good” is a subjective term, but I’m more than willing to develop judging criteria and make those determinations. String bikini licenses not only would apply to women, but also to men’s Speedo-style suits. I’ll let you ladies develop your own criteria on those, thank you very much. If you’ve busted your gut at the gym and gotten into bikini-quality shape, good for you! I’ll be the first to applaud. You’re licensed to buy anything off the bikini rack.

General bikini and swim trunk licenses: These licenses are for folks who are in pretty fair shape, you know, “for their age.” You’re not cleared for string bikinis nor Speedos, but feel free to wear pretty much anything else. You might want to go with a little extra coverage here and there, but for the most part you still have a wide variety of suits to pick from.

Modest-coverage licenses: These are for people who, let’s face it, have some work to do. Exposed bellies are not allowed. With a little sweat and determination, you could re-apply for a general bikini and swim trunk license. Yes, it will be hard work, but if it were easy everyone would do it.

Full-coverage-only license: You know who you are. I’m sorry, but we’re going to have to insist on full-body coverage from your knees to your neck. Bikinis and swim trunks on these folks are socially irresponsible and a public safety risk.

In other sun-soaked news ...

It seems like something really bizarre happens in the “real world” while I’m living the good life on vacation. Ed, Farrah and Michael all die within a few days of each other? That’s the strangest thing to happen on my vacation since a train derailed and released poisonous gas near my home a few years ago. It’s enough to make me want to never go on vacation again — or maybe I should just never come back.

As wonderful as the beach is, you can certainly get too much of it. The combination of the sun, sand, surf and bikini assessing gets downright exhausting after a few hours. I don’t know how the lifeguards do it. If I had to stay on the beach for nine hours a day, I’d go nuts.

Someone should come up with sandals that feel like you’re walking on a beach. There’s a million-dollar idea right there. Of course, you’ll need to manufacture a sole that’s both gritty and squishy, but for a people who are so advanced as to develop bathing suit licensures, that really shouldn’t be a problem.

The seafood buffets are less greasy than I recall. A few weeks ago I wrote about how seafood buffets tend to fry everything and that fried food pretty much all tastes the same — shrimp, chicken, scallops, slugs, whatever. Last week we went to a seafood buffet that had a wide variety of non-fried seafood delights. I could actually taste the seafood! Wowzers! In defense of fried food, however, I must concede that in my determination fried oysters are better than broiled oysters. Raw oysters? No thanks. I’ve tried them, and they’re just not for me. They’re a little too — ick.

I’m still waiting for someone to make “The Beach” T-shirts. Two years ago after a beach trip I wrote that all I really wanted was a T-shirt with the words “The Beach” because that’s all anyone needs to know. When it comes down to it, beaches are all pretty much the same — sun, sand, surf, overstuffed bikinis. Souvenir T-shirts that advertise specific beaches are a waste. I want a souvenir T-shirt that says “The Beach.” That’s all. I didn’t see one last week, but I looked. I won’t even bother to tell you which beach we visited. It was “The Beach,” and that’s all that matters.

David Spates is a Knoxville resident and Crossville Chronicle contributor whose column is published each Tuesday. He can be reached at davespates@tds.net.