Suiting Up

Yesterday I apparently felt the need to really hate myself. Because I decided I needed to go ahead and get my bathing suit for the season.

I went into Khol's overly optimistic on the selection, discovering, unfortunately, that nothing had changed since last season. There are three kinds of bathing suits: the bikini, the slightly-bigger-than-a-bikini and the "big momma" mumu.

The bikini is an article of clothing (if it can qualify as a whole article of clothing) that covers the very bare minimum of flesh. It is designed for little, bitty girls who are very confident. It is NOT for girls who have a little (or a lot) extra junk in their trunk.

The slightly-bigger-than-a-bikini suit still shows a lot of flesh. Sometimes they are even one piece suits. But they still require a lot of extra confidence, and not a lot of extra "you."

From there, we jump straight to the dress with briefs and bra cups built in. The fabric is awful. The colors and/or patterns are cheap-looking. And there is little to no shape to them. These scream, "I am too fat to care how I look anymore." Or, "I'm old enough that I really need the bra cups to roll my boobs up and stuff them in."

Why is there nothing in between? Cute, sporty, young. But able to cover enough of your body to make you feel un-naked. Why does it either have to be Playboy Bunny or Golden Girls/Free Willy?

I finally selected a few that were the least offensive and went into the dressing room.

Dressing rooms in general are unfriendly to the ego. They have harsh, bright light and big, unforgiving mirrors. My fresh-from-winter vampire white skin was translucent, and not in the pretty way. And what had looked like soft curves in jeans, suddenly looked like flabby cellulite in the bathing suits.

It took every ounce of will power in my being not to either 1) scream bloody murder at my reflection, 2) cry uncontrollably, or 3) both. But I managed to force my way through the suits. Finally, I selected the least of the evils (which isn't saying much), and planned to use fake tanning lotion and wear make up and a cover up to try to offset the suit.

My mood for the day was shot.

I craved what had gotten me into this flabby, floppy body mess in the first place: chocolate, and lots of it. I searched back to the memory of me in the suit, which was now seared into my brain, and was able to leave the chocolate alone.

However, hubby offered me a glass of wine, which I happily took. Finally, I began to feel the irritation of my shopping/torture excursion uncoil.

After my second glass of wine, I came to the conclusion that the next time I go shopping for bathing suits, I'll have the wine first. I'll use the fake tanning lotion beforehand, and I'll have a make over to boost my self esteem before I start.

And, it might not hurt to try on the suits in the dark either... I'm just saying...