Ugh. The big family swimming party is coming up in about a month and you know what that means? I need a new bathing suit. Bring on the flourescent lighting, impossibly skinny saleswomen and see-through shop walls through which all passersby can view my shame.
Okay, it’s not quite that bad but there’s absolutely nothing fun about shopping for a bathing suit unless you’re a supermodel. Would you like a little more material and perhaps something that flatters your body shape? That will be $250., please. Are you a stick-person who can wear anything made out of a swatch of fabric the size of a sock? For you, ten bucks! And please, when you’re in the changeroom, whine loudly about how the size 2 is way too big and come out to show us all the gaping spandex. That would be great, just great.
I have been tempted to buy a suit online but you just can’t tell whether the cut is too low or it will bunch up in the butt unless you actually try it on. Just the thought of it makes the corners of my mouth involuntarily turn down. I’m not unrealistic. I don’t expect a suit to transform me into something I’m not. I’d just like to find one that fits properly a little more quickly. And it would be nice if the mirrors were a little closer to the changerooms. Last time I bought a bathing suit, I had to skitter out to mirrors positioned directly beside the chairs where waiting spouses of other customers were sitting. Given a choice between gazing a racks of womens’ merchandise or a live human being, which would you look at? That’s right. My struggle to find the right fit became entertainment for men I didn’t know. Oh it’s awful. Just shoot me now, would you? Thanks.