The horror stories have knocked at my ears for years, but gained no entry because they held no ground. A few days ago that changed. I blindly wandered into new territory without ammunition. My ego was ambushed and the wounds were deep. The enemy is a two-piece. Bikini that is.
I found a cupcake of a deal online at Express on two bikinis, 8 bucks for each piece. Now, I’ve shared that I’ve been getting into shape. **insert cough** Okay, so not as religiously as I would like, but doing it still the same. I was really excited about the bikinis because they were for my upcoming honeymoon. I always, always look at the reviews of other shoppers for juicy tidbits and thankfully so. Several posts revealed the bottoms run small, so I ordered up a size.
They arrived and I greedily tore open the package to get my hands on them. Very cute. Until I tried them on. The string bikini bottoms were a large—yes, a large—and they covered half of my cheek! Okay, obviously some people like flashing their cheeks—um, some of us need to like this idea a little less than others—but, those bottoms exceeded my comfort level. If I had ordered my regular size, the only thing those bottoms would have seen was the crack of my ass. Because that's exactly where they would have been! I mean, they would be shrimpy on my kid. And she’s 7!
Now, it’s totally possible Petunia Prudepants has gotten into the control room on this, but WTF! Who is making these swimsuits? Granted, if Criss Angel walked behind me and performed an illusion trick that made by butt (throw the thighs in while we're at it!) look firm and airbrushed--then I’d flash my cheeks all day long. But, obviously this is not an option at this time. So, I’m going with the next choice, crying hysterically while returning them.
I was never an avid swimsuit shopper, but when I needed one it was never a problem. I grabbed what I wanted, end of story. Yeah, yeah. I’ve heard women rant and work themselves into a tizzy over swimsuit season, but I tuned it out. That was their situation, not mine. Hah! Time is one hell of a comedian.
And I don’t blame the swimsuits. Nope. Add 20,000 cheeseburgers, 1,200 bags of potato chips, 100 pints of ice cream, a jillion candy bars sprinkled with a few years and voila! Hello Miss Jigglebutt!
While my itty bitty bikini days may be temporarily behind me—hey, Denial told me I could hang out with her for as long as I wanted—my swimsuit years are not. I just have to regroup and shop for suits that offer full coverage. Of course, with designers using less and less fabric each year I’d probably have better luck finding Lucky the Leprechaun than scoring an ass friendly swimsuit.
But, hope springs eternal. Just like lipo.