No wonder I put it off for so long. Doing the florescent-lit pasty white skin, blubber belly, step-it-in wiggle jiggle dance into a not so Miracle Suit in front of a full-length mirror is too humiliating for anyone more than once in a decade. Recently, I even got invited to a girly, girly "does this make my butt look fat?" bathing suit shopping extravaganza. A witness in the dressing room! OMG. What was she thinking? I'm sure it was due to the pathetic stuck-in-the-80s turquoise blue flowered number I donned Sunday afternoon at a semi-public pool party that was just screaming "
Please! Help Lisa now!" After throwing away all of the stretched out, faded, saggy suits one by one over the years, June hit and I was down to only one. One that shouldn't be let out of my own backyard. So today I sucked it all in and ventured out. Tempted to just get the pig roast luau-inspired ruffly floral moo-moo next to the rack of suits, never get in a pool again and call it a day, I forged ahead. After twenty attempts, the only one to make it out of the Spandex pile was one with a skirt. Yes, a skirt. That's how bad it is these days. To add to the humiliation, I think I'll stop coloring my hair to complete the whole grey-haired grandma in a skirted swim suit look.
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