That much anticipated annual event, that mid-February tease, that little ray of hope that winter is fading, came to pass last week. The anuual Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue arrived.
Call me old or jaded or maybe both, but I didn't actually pick it up to page through it (I do read the articles, but first things first) until this morning. And then I just flipped the pages without really registering what I was seeing. I've seen so many of these swimsuit issues over the many years I've subscribed to the magazine, that I fail to be, shall we say, "moved," by the display of skin so artfully revealed by the lack of swimsuits.
All the while I was turning the nearly 240 pages adorned with the best examples of the female side of the human species, I couldn't help thinking that someone was messing with my sense of reality. All the models on those pages were too impossibly perfect to be real. They surely were the result of a skilled technician wielding the latest version of Photoshop. Those young women are too ideal to actually exist in the real world as we know it.
Which brings up the question, do you know anyone who knows anyone who knows anyone who has ever seen one of those models in the flesh? They certainly have never been seen prancing around my back yard posing suggestively and taking off the tops of thier bikinis. I'm willing to bet that no one has ever actually encountered any of them out there where we live our real lives. They are obviously figments of a very fertile imagination, a god who is yanking us around, teasing us with a vision of perfection that is impossible to attain.
Another example of the unreality presented in those pages is the cost of those so-called swimsuits. (First of all, anyone attempting to actually swim in none of those microdots of fabric would surely end up naked. But maybe that's the point.)
The four $50 bills it costs to buy any of that swimwear would cover more than the dozen or so square inches the money would purchase. Why not just paste four one dollar bills in strategic places. You'd get away a lot cheaper and be more modest to boot.
So after all these years of drooling over the show of female perfection, I have finally come to the conclusion that it is all an elaborate hoax. Those pictures are so alien to any real life experience that to believe in the existance of those perfect young women would be like believing that man could walk on the moon. And we all know what a hoax that whole thing was.
Maybe if next year when the annual tease is published once again, one of those models shows up at my door, dressed, or more llikely undressed, to deliver my copy, I'll believe they actually exist. I'll even be willing to overlook the cold February induced goose bumps.