Originally, I was going to write this thought about how bathing suit pockets have no purpose, but then recently I discovered the purpose. It was one of those moments where you just know that God is looking down at you and saying, “Darn it, Bret, that Thought is gonna be too short unless I show you this.” God is very involved in making T.J. Monkey’s a “success”. Before I start sounding like some national champion basketball player or Oscar winner, I’ll move on with the Thought. I’ll begin with my original, naïve reasoning:
- Both of the bathing suits I own have pockets.
- These pockets are all meshy pieces of crap that, regardless what I do in the water, end up on the outside of my swimsuit so I end up modeling the fashion of Marty McFly’s son in “Back to the Future 2”. This might be acceptable if I had a hoverboard.
- I don’t have a hoverboard.
- I wear bathing suits when I plan on immersing myself in water.
- Therefore the only thing that I could ever put in these pockets would be something waterproof and also heavy enough to keep the pockets on the inside so that I would not lose the item. The only thing I could think of that might work is an underwater camera.
- Underwater cameras have handy wrist straps.
Henceforth I came to the foolish conclusion that bathing suit pockets were completely useless.
Henceforth God, out of love for all of His creation (specifically bathing suit pockets), showed me that bathing suit pockets possess utility after all.
I was at the pool in my apartment complex, which is something I’ve been doing a lot lately since it’s hotter than Belinda Carlisle in North Carolina right now. So I’m chilling with the water up to about the top of my suit because that’s as far as my awkwardly tall body will allow me to get in while standing.
I notice a girl across the way looking in my direction. “Makes sense,” I figure. Then I look over to introduce myself to the future Mrs. Runestad, and I realize it’s not my washboard stomach or sparkling smile she’s looking at. Instead, her somewhat disturbed visage was directed into the water where my bathing suit pockets were floating next to me like the egg sacs of a frog.
I searched my mind to come up with some witty phrase that involved the word tadpole, but I’m a comedian not a miracle worker. Soon she had turned away–away from me and towards a future with some dumb frat guy.
So God did give bathing suits a purpose: to make me look like an idiot.
The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.