Your Unemployed Daughter

photo credit: Ana Santos

Ah, back from the beach. Yes, unemployed people do go to the beach. Where else are we to go? The sleeping accommodations, if sandy, are at least free, and the weather (thank you, thank you) has cleared so conveniently that I don’t need even to crawl inside my plastic poncho to avoid the downpours most nights.

It’s the simple life, where all one needs is some stretchy fabric to cover one’s “special” parts, liquid refreshment so as not to dehydrate – perhaps a large iced tea in a styrofoam cup – and spare change for the inevitable beers you must consume else the locals look at you funny. It’s all perfectly wondrous and cheap, but for one thing.

Despite having instituted a shopping moratorium until either my unemployment status or the season changes, I do find myself wanting swimsuits. Mine are, well, in various states of disrepair and/or never fit quite right in the first place. Stained with sunscreen, pilled from nubbly poolsides, stretched out from bosoms that have heaved one too many times …

Since I have such time to devote to enterprises like tanning, wave-surfing, and beach-sitting, it seems fair that I would need proper outfitting for those endeavors. Certainly you wouldn’t tell me to continue wearing the same old raggedy blazer I’ve had since 1998, the one with the crushed shoulder pad from that debate camp mishap. You wouldn’t send someone down a ski hill dressed in an anorak riddled with holes and no pants just because they were currently without a job, would you? Or a machine gunner to war without an M240, just because he’s not technically “on staff”?

So here’s what I propose. I’ve had a donation button up for a while, folks. And guess how many people have reached into their pockets? Zero. Not even dear old Dad or munificent Mom.

I know times are hard. ITE, how many people can spare $10? (Btw, I saw you yesterday with your fancy golden 300-thread-count swim trunks and your big fat pricey truffle sandwich and your diamond-encrusted umbrella. I saw you!)

Okay, okay, I hate to beg. But imagine, if just 10 of you gave $10, I could buy a whole new J.Crew halter and hipster bottoms. If 20 of you gave, 2 new swimsuits would be mine! (I promise not to spend it on Wild Turkey and arcade games, this time!)

Plus, it’s not like you’re getting nothing here. Think of all the content I’ve already given you. If only whoever thought up the Internet way back in the ’90s had hammered out a slightly better business model, I’d already be raking it in and wouldn’t have to shame myself by asking.

It’s up to you. But do you really want to keep seeing me in that blue polka-dotted number? I thought not. Plus, when I get my Hawaiian Tropic contract, I will totes pay you back!