Summer time means water time. Despite the fact that I can not swim, I want like millions of others want to get in the water. I The problem is I don’t want to get in half naked wearing a swimsuit that doesn’t hide enough of my scary parts. If only there were one which highlighted my neck and calves, camouflaging everything in between, summer life could be fabulous. After losing more than 150lbs, I naively thought this activity would magically be easier somehow. (Did I mention I often laugh at myself? well, I do. So feel free to join me!) In my daydreams, even J-Lo and Sofia Vergara struggle with swimsuit shopping...at least it makes me feel better to hope they do.
So on this note, I may not have made shopping for the perfect suit into an art form, but I have created a two rule understanding for easing the pain:
a.) My sister is my interior support. We torture ourselves and nurture each other in adjoining dressing rooms. We then sneak in after changing and envy each other over the body parts we wish we had. Easing our bruised egos from the cruelty inflicted by the brutal lighting in small quarters with no place to hide. (This is also the time, I openly wonder why she took all the boobage, while she blames our parents that I got all the trunk junk.)
b.) You ask who takes their husband swimsuit shopping? I do! (I mean who would not take the man who states that your stretch marks are and I quote, “beautiful, because they are where our kids came from.”? Yes, I know hubby points FOR LIFE!!) My husband is my cheerleading booster section. He will wait patiently at the door of the dressing room entrance, and rolls his eyes when I yell from the back of the dressing room stalls that swimsuit manufacturers hate…H.A.T.E. all women. Every. Last. One. Of. Us. He always wants me to come out and strut my stuff so he can help with my hot weather dilemma, and give kind, but sincere critiques. The problem is they are the critiques of a blind man! Some might say he is blinded by love. Either way he is oblivious to the reality of any cellulite that appears on my body. What else could explain why he fails to see the problem I have with coming out of the dressing room to walk the public runway in my swimsuit choices?
2.) Always remember that the mirrors in the stores are tall, evil, reflective, liars!
a.) Worse than the mirrors in the carnival fun house, these mirrors are not made by the same people who make the mirrors for our homes.
b.) They are distorted to work in concert with the florescent store lighting, without which they’d become instantly powerless. This will explain why what you see in the store, will never be the same when you get home.
So, get some support, forgive yourself, kick the mirror, through on a coverall and dive in anyway…that’s what I did. Enough Said.