I'm holding a bit of cloth in my hand, with slivers of what looks like dental floss attached to it.  It is, without a doubt, one of the smallest bikinis I have ever seen, let alone been lucky enough to handle.  Why am I holding this bikini in my hand you ask?
Well something has to be said about skimpy bikinis.  Actually to be honest, hardly anything needs to be said, and more gaping needs to be done.  The only problem is that "skimpy" has been hard to come by.  That is, until recently.

In the late 90's a young upstart of a company decided their main goal was to start manufacturing and distributing "risqué swimwear & underwear" for women.  Wicked Weasel was born, and men the world over celebrated.
The company grew steadily out of its Byron Bay, Australia, base to capture a large portion of the bikini and swimwear market worldwide.  They achieved this by using a very straightforward and simple marketing approach.

You see, the early founders of the company realized that if they were to get the ladies of the world to wear something as minimal as you can't imagine, they would need the guys behind them all the way.  Not that guys need much convincing that wearing something that resembles a few bits of string tied together looks better on a woman.  It's just that you have to convince them that they need to aim lower, forgetting the sensuous supermodel image they had fixed in their heads, or the pouting porn star.  Instead they should be thinking of the girl-next-door, or their girlfriend or their wife, and convince them they'll look just as good, if not better. 

This leads me back to the reason why I'm holding this bikini in my hand.  I bought it as my girlfriend's birthday present.  She's normally not the sort who spends much time on beaches or wearing something that turn heads, but after a bit of encouragement she put it on.  I have to say she looked fantastic.  Fantastic enough that I felt like giving her more "encouragement".  Ehem. 

You simply can't put into words (mainly because you're literally speechless) that first sight of your girl as she walks out into broad daylight wearing next to nothing, for the rest of the world to gape and ogle at.  It wasn't until we got home later that night that I realized I'd been just like all the other boys, reduced to a blubbering mass of hormonal eye groping.  It started to dawn on me the significance of the terms wicked, weasel and risqué. 

And this leads me back to the reason why I'm holding this bikini in my hand.