As if facing the hated shopping trip for undergarments wasn’t enough to tax the stalwart, in less than a week, I also forged into bathing suit territory with iron determination to come out with my dignity intact.
You may be thinking…didn’t you just buy a bikini last year? Yes, I did! And it’s perfect for swimming in my Mom’s pool. My parents have said they’ll love me no matter what, and I have already scarred my kids for life. I mean, they were doomed from the moment they were conceived. But this year we’re going to a beach where I can only assume will be covered with half-starved babes with perfect hair in brightly coloured, postage stamp-sized lycra. And where there are beach babes, there will be men of all ages lusting after them. Hopefully not also wearing brightly coloured, postage stamp-sized lycra. [shudder]
“I feel attractive in a bathing suit”, thought no woman ever. “Let’s go bathing suit shopping” said no woman ever. Not unless she is suffering the serious side effects of starvation. [If this happens, feed her immediately!] No woman enjoys the experience of stripping nearly naked in a tiny cubicle with unkind lighting and multiple mirrors. Something happens once we cross the dressing room threshold and close the door. Our femininity transform into something troll-like and our confidence puddles around our ankles. A dainty gazelle becomes a floundering hippo. No amount of chocolate can truly soothe the bruising our self-esteem takes when the (unrealistic) image we have in our mind of how this beautiful item will look on us, is crushed like a spider with a shoe. It’s a swift slap that stuns and stings. Long after we’ve left the dressing room.
Monday morning, I ventured into the store minutes after it opened. Fewer witnesses to see me sweating through my dress. The 12 year old, size 0 store clerk was cheerful and not pushy, which I appreciated. I browsed…and left the store. Baby steps.
Bathing suit stores are Little Shops of Horrors.
An hour later.
After some deep breathing exercises, I returned to the store, much to the surprise of the store clerk, and bravely explained my concerns. I need support! Moral and for the girls! Since it’s the beginning of July, most of their stock is gone [winter stock is on its way], but the store clerk earned her pay pulling a few suits that were close to my size, and whisked me to the back. They were all black [except one that made me look like an obese worm]. I guess black is slimming?
I tried her first pick, a tiny black number that required 3 tiny hangars. My inner babe had high hopes. This suit was cut as an “X” and looked amazing. On the hangar. Instead, it was amazingly difficult to figure out. Once the hangars were removed, I was confused. How am I supposed to wear on a slingshot? Which strap went where, and why isn’t that covering there. Suddenly an albino hippo was oozing out around the waist. Other things were oozing out too. It got so ridiculous, I actually laughed out loud. I think I scared the little clerk hovering beyond the blue curtain. I know I scared my sexy inner babe! She may never be seen again!
There was also this:
After nearly half an hour of sweating, grunting, moaning and elastic snapping, I did find a simple black suit that will do. That was the good news.
The bad news? I cheated with Henry again. And I enjoyed it.