The Dreaded Trip for Anyone But Barbie

Yes, today was one of those days, you know, one of those shopping days, where you come home from the mall and swear, "I will never eat again." You got it, it was swimsuit shopping time.

Since my siwmsiut got a hole in the knee last year, I thought it was time to buy a new one. Wow, how things have changed. The men's siuts have gotten extremely longer and the women's siuts, well...let's just say that there's more material in the men's suits than in the womens.

I'm really wishing, right about now, that I would have started my weight lifting routine back in March...it really would have paid off by now, I'm sure....or that I wouldn't have eaten for the last month.

I was lookin amongst all the itsy-bitsy-bikinis for something modest but not grandma-style. Classy, not smutty; stylish, not made out of wool...I finally found that suit that I liked (had to undress the manequin to get it!), but it was one size too small. Yes, thank you, I needed a larger size. And, of course, they didn't have any. I find the prefect siut and it's one stinkin' size too small. Oh, the irony!!

What's with all the halter top swimming siuts, anyway? Does anybody actually swim in their swimming suits anymore? Ya know, I just didn't find the suit selection for "Women Who Have Had Four Children" in amongst the "I'm Anorexic With Fake Boobs" section. Pity, pity.

It was soo funny...here I am trying to find the perfect suit, which, infact (which is technically two words and not one), I did, just not in my size, and I just happen to be in Target with the hubby, the fourth store in search of the impossible find. We look at the suits in the junior section, let me describe them for you in two words: dental floss. Hubby says, "Can you fit a junior's size?" I throw him daggers with my eyes and say, "Yes." He says, "Well there's nothing here, let's go look in the women's section." I tell him I'm sure there's no more, but we head off towards the back of the store anyway. I'm gawking off, my atteion being redirected to all the clothing racks I'm passing that say "75% off" (I mean, really, how can you pass that up?!?), and I hear Hubby proudly proclaim, "Here! I found some!" I look at the rack of colorful suits and look back at him, beaming with his wonderful hunting skills and say, "Hello! These are PLUS size! These are parachutes with elastic in them!"

So, not only is the perfect swimsuit one size too small, but now my hubby's lead me to a rack of plus-sized swim wear. Yes, thank you. Thank you Jenny Craig, and Martha Stewart and Dr. Suess.

So, in stride, I say, "Okay, I'll see if something fits." I go through the rack, look for the smallest sizes and grab some to try on. I get to the dressing room and count out how many suits I have for the lady at the counter. She looks at me, looks at the suits and says, "Aw honey, those ain't gonna fit you, those are plus sizes." I very politely tell her I know, but I'd like to try them on anyway. She looks at me like I'm an idiot, points to the front of the store and says, "Did you look up there, I'm sure you could find something in your size up there." Deciding to skip the dental floss description, I sweetley explain to the woman, who is making such a wonderful scene for me in front of everyone whose curious ears have know perked up, that I need a suit that is bigger on the top than it is on the bottom, doing a little Vanna White hand action to show her that my bust will not be covered by dental floss. I explain that I thought I'd give the swimsiuts in my hand a shot (they were all two pieces, the new hit now-a-days). She looks at me very disapprovingly and says in an exasperated tone, "Well fine, go try 'em on," as she lets me pass into the dressing rooms. The she says, "Have fun." Have fun? Have FUN? I'm surprised my head didn't spin as my forked tongue spit out something like "Look lady, I'm not Barbie and you're not my mother. I've got a 4 year old son that doesn't need to be looking at his mother's cleavage and other body parts that are barely covered by dental floss. If I want to wear a parachute, LET ME!!"

But, of course, I'm much too polite to say anything like that, so I didn't. (But I'm obviously not too polite to print it!)

There was this one suit, I would have got it if I hadn't been looking for a "Mom" swimsiut. It was white with big blue polka dots and silver piping. It was sassy with a capital "S"; a tankini with attitude. It made me want to dye my hair blonde and put on bright red lipstick and a pair of Prada's. Yes, it was that sassy. The bottom was navy with a funky little polka-dot belt and a cool clasp. But, no, no, no--I was looking for the "Mom" suit, remember, not the "Sassy, Let-Me-Splash-You-With-Some-Attitude" suit. Such a shame.

Why am I writing about swim wear at 10:48PM?

Oh yes, I remember why--I've been a little insomniac lately. It's part of the greif cycle, ya know. At least I've started eating again. And I have started sleeping more, just not back to usual yet.

Give it time, just give it some time.

Alright. Well. Let's hit the sack, shall we. So much for my glorious early mornings, so quite and pristine. I'm already looking forward to fall: turtlenecks, no bikinis. Leaves falling, no 90 degree weather. School schedule, no wasted days. Scrumptious things in the oven, since that swimsuit is packed away. Anticipation for the holidays, Christmas music and decking out the house for the seasons...fall. Yes, fall will be good.

Until then, I'd like to strangle Barbie.