5.09 / September 2010

THIS RANT IS BEST WHEN READ ALOUD IN 23 SECONDS OR LESS WHILE WEARING A ONESIE, CATSUIT, JUMPSUIT OR UNITARD. And don’t stop too long at the periods. They are yield signs, not permission to loiter.

u ·ni ·tard (yo?o?n?-tärd)

n. A one-piece leotard and tights combination, sometimes with foot straps.
[uni- + (leo)tard.]

I love unitards.

Floral unitards.

My mother’s maternity suit from Hawaii circa ’92.

Back when Barbie still had class. Before Barney said “Fuck” on National TV. Back at the birth of the girl band and the ingenuity of marketing strippers as musicians, before they were overtly transparent, with names like “Spice Girls,” rather than “Pussyfuck Sex Dolls” or “Bimbo-licious.”

Long before my father got drunk in Puerto Vallarta and accidentally impregnated my mother for a third time, forever sealing her fate as a stay-at-home mom. Never again the unlikely blonde bush pilot taxiing rednecks North, crash landing on bitter lakes to be rescued by twelve-year old boys with oars. And while we’re on the topic of boys and my mother, what about “Randy?” The Albertan with a unibrow who didn’t quite get the term broken up and came back to surprise mom; only to find she was away with my Dad who of course was the better catch because he owned a Sony walkman not to mention she saved the daughter-she-was-yet-to-have a heck of a lot of eyebrow tweezing. Not that “Ms. Randy Junior” would know any different. Though Randy certainly wouldn’t have had the class to take my mother to Hawaii and buy her a floral unitard and where would this rant be without that?