Because I felt we shared so much last week I’m going to continue this trust exercise with you and go deeper on my swimsuit saga. After a total forensics review of my beloved and aged swimsuit, I thought that maybe, just maybe, I might be able to eke out another season of chlorine abuse. But I came to the disheartening conclusion that it needed to be tossed.
It wasn’t just threadbare. My 1.5 reading glasses revealed that the elastic around the back of the suit had lost its will to live. It had no more stretch left to give. This meant I had to actually buy another swimsuit.
No more hunting around the Internet for something suitable and making excuses about how there was nothing out there that fit my parameters. I had to hit “add to cart” and then click on “check out.”
I decided to order multiple suits (nine to be exact) from one retailer so it would be easier to return the ones that didn’t work. Another reason I ordered suits online is that I believe the agony of trying on swimwear is an experience best endured in the privacy of your own bedroom.
Who in their right mind and with a BMI over 25, wants to torture themselves by disrobing in a store’s fitting room which is approximately the size of an airplane lavatory while bathed in florescent lighting so heinous that it makes your cellulite rival the Hellas Planitia crater on Mars? It’s not a banner moment in retail when the ambience of a restroom stall at any QuikTrip is not only better but also larger and has more flattering lighting than most clothing store fitting rooms.
When the suits arrived in three different boxes my husband asked me what were in the packages. I responded with one word – sadness. He took this as a cue to leave the house for a while.
After he smartly departed I decided in an effort to preserve some dignity to try on each suit while
wearing black leggings. My theory was if the upper part of the suit passed the “you’re not one dive away from a life changing wardrobe malfunction or becoming an internet meme” I would put it in the “try again without leggings on” pile.
I’m proud to report I tried on five swimsuits before I had to take a mental health break that included watching 20 minutes of “Midsomer Murders” on PBS. This show is set in the rural English countryside which means that everyone is clothed in long pants, turtlenecks and baggy sweaters with elbow patches. Oh, what a world to behold where there’s not so much as even an exposed neck in sight.
After daydreaming about strolling through verdant meadows and having a spot of tea at the Ye Olde Earl Gray I gathered my strength for trying on the last four swimsuits. This ended up being a collection of moans, groans, and a flurry of, “Was someone on hallucinogenic drugs when this monstrosity was created?” Do swimsuit designers all need to all take a refresher course on the female anatomy?” and “Is this swimsuit fabric Kevlar because it feels like I’m wearing a bulletproof vest?”
Finally, after another “Midsomers Murders” respite I was able to rally and select three suits to try on without leggings. Two suits made it to the final round.
This is when I did something total out of character. I decided to keep both suits. Yes, I did the math and realized if I rotated the suits I could delay having to do this again for maybe, fingers crossed, a solid decade.
Think about it – 10 years of not having to shop for a swimsuit. Oh, happy, happy, day.
Snarky in the Suburbs 