I remember the day that I first became aware of the existence of speedos. It was on a field trip, way back in Kindergarten. Our whole class had traveled to the beach to collect seashells, make sand castles, and splash our little feet in the cool water. Little did I know that within a few short minutes of beach bliss I would behold the atrocity known to most as a "speedo" for the very first time in my life.
Having 4 sisters and being only 5 years old, I had until that time escaped the horror of brief male swimwear. The first offender I observed was a boy in my class named Sean. He was running, jumping, skipping, even leaping around the surf in what appeared to be a pair of panties. I was puzzled. I was disturbed. Why was he wearing panties? And how had he fashioned them out of an American flag? Even at the tender age of 5, I just knew that this unnatural display was wrong. So wrong. I thought to myself... "Wow, whatever that is, it needs to go."
His star-spangled booty would be the first in a long line of speedo sightings through the years that I wish I could erase from my memory, each one a little more disturbing than the last.
My most recent speedo sighting occurred last week, while I was waiting in line to take a turn on a rope swing at a local pond. The speedo-wearing pond perpetrator was in his mid thirties, with the physique of your average NASCAR enthusiast. It's hard to find any appropriate words right now to accurately describe the visual abuse he inflicted on all those who found him within their sight. Suffice it to say, that there were children there who will be asking their parents some very tough questions in the next few days. I really don't want to talk about it anymore.
Dear Universe,
for the sake of the children:
Speedos. Must. Go.
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What must go, must go.