The tale of the ice queen cometh

BY PETUNIA PAP SMEAR

The road to the hot spring is fraught with danger and excitement.

I went to Crystal Hot Springs resort on New Year’s Day. It turned out to be an exciting, yet harrowing near-death experience.

First off, the changing room encounter is always a dreadful event. Out of courtesy for the other patrons, and in an effort to not traumatize the children, I try to use one of the privacy-cubicle changing booths. This, it turned out, was a near impossibility. The cubby hole was so small, that I couldn’t even fit my Teton-Esque breasticles and my substantially gravity-enhanced buttockus rotundus inside the booth at the same time. Consequently, I was unable to close the curtain, thereby emotionally scarring at least two kids as they passed by.

The next challenge was to squeeze my bottomus maximus into my swimming suit. Now, I have a bit of a fetish about spandex, especially when worn by some of those hunky models in the Speedo ads. I quickly realized my bubble butt had progressed into dirigible dimensions and that a skintight swimming brief would not suit my heroically proportioned bottom. So, I wanted to purchase one of those spandex jammer suits with the longer legs for more coverage. No store had one large enough to encompass my blimpy bottom. Consequently, my queenly bedazzling gene kicked in. I got a can of black paint and spray-painted one of my girdles black. Then I glued on a rhinestone buckle and voila! Instant fashion swimwear!

I was titillatingly excited to debut my homemade jammer suit. Well, the thrill quickly turned into trauma as I began forcefully clutching the waistband and pulling with all my might to get the stretchy fabric up over my buns-of-bacon. Halfway through, I had to sit down and take a breather before I had a stroke. Finally, after much anguish and many swear words, the mighty feat was accomplished. I stepped out of the cubicle and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. This visage was not just some run-of-the-mill love handles. In this case, my heroically proportioned queen-sized muffin top could most correctly be described as the Hindenburg squeezing into an empty toilet paper roll. In the words of Winston Churchill, “Never was so much owed by so many to so few” (threads of fabric)!

Then it was out to the pools. The ambient air temperature was a brisk nine degrees Fahrenheit. I took one step outside and immediately shrieked as the frigid air came in contact my nipples. Instantly, some of my more private body parts shrank and retreated. Obviously, a hasty trip to the hot pool was in order. However, ice buildup on the walkway made the journey quite a slippery treacherous obstacle course.

The steam rising from the hot pools was so thick, it was nearly impossible to see where I was going. I slowly made my way through the cloud of steam, with my outstretched arms feeling for any obstacles. I had made it about ten yards sliding along when I slipped on the ice-covered walk. Just before I went all the way down, I felt someone wrap their strong arms around my waist from behind and break my fall. As he held onto me, I could feel his nearly naked body pressed up against mine in a near spooning posture. My heart skipped a beat in the excitement. Ever so slowly, (because I wanted him to keep holding onto me), I turned around to thank him. Through the fog, I could just barely make out the gymnastic build of an incredibly handsome, 20-something Adonis.

“Oh, sweet mystery of life, at last, I’ve found you.”

After assuring that I was alright, my hero kept holding onto me and helped me the rest of the way into the pool. My mind raced with romantic possibilities as we entered the water together. Just as I was about to turn around and reciprocate his embrace, he unceremoniously let go of me and swam away into the fog.

After some time in the hot water, the feeling began to return to my extremities and I was able to wade around in the water, searching for my Adonis hero. I could not see him anywhere. Either he was purposely hiding from me, or he was a guardian angel sent from heaven to save me, and then he returned.

During my search, another stunningly handsome guy came towards me, with a huge “come hither” smile on his face. I thought, “Oh my. Another stroke of luck!” Sadly, as I was about to begin conversing with this guy, he passed me by and met up with a girl who was behind me. DAMN! Always a bridesmaid, never the bride!

After about three circumnavigations of the pool, with no hero in sight, a little bratty kid made a huge splash of water and got my beehive hair wet. To my dismay, I discovered that the Aqua Net hairspray holding my hair together is water-soluble, and my hair began to melt like the Wicked Witch of the West in the “Wizard of Oz.” By the time I made it back to the dressing room, an icicle capable of sinking the Titanic had formed in my hair. It was obviously time to go home.

This story leaves us with several important questions:

1. Will my personal liability insurance cover the therapy for the traumatized kids, or do I need to file a claim with the resort’s insurance?

2. Just what is the tensile strength of spandex?

3. What kind of lube best helps spandex stretch over fat?

4. Since private parts shrink in the cold, is tucking made unnecessary in freezing weather?

5. Should I install fog lights on my breasticles?

6. And most importantly, does spandex make my ass look fat?

These and other eternal questions will be answered in future chapters of The Perils of Petunia Pap Smear.