The Solution to Swimsuit Shopping

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Yesterday I took a trip to Target to buy toilet paper, because necessity, and despite the angel on my shoulder telling me I was broke, I strolled over to the swimsuits…just in case.  Plus, I needed to at least pretend for a dazzling moment that all the world wasn’t frozen outside those automatic glass doors.  February funk, y’all.

Lo and behold, my shoulder devil appeared and was all like “BOW DOWN” to my angel.  So I found a few bikinis and made my way to the fitting room.

In my mind, I was going to try them all on and look something like this:


As I began my fitting room adventure, I had high hopes looking at my selections.  One was this adorable black triangle top with neon bedazzled boob jewelage (What? Is that a word?), and a matching neon pair of bottoms with three strings on the sides.  I proceeded to try it on.  The top was cute after I combed my hair over the pooch hanging under my boobage, and the bottoms were nice in theory though not in real life so I sucked in a big breath, bent forward at the waist and decided that the neon wasn’t the best for my skin tone after all.

So I moved onto the pale pink number.  Top = A plus.  Cute little ruffle thing hanging over the under-boobage means it’s okay to read sitting cross-legged (instead of my usual “lean all the way back and suck in to the point where I can’t even see my book and there’s no point in reading at all” pose).  Then I pulled the matching bottoms on.  So cute!  For a 12 year old girl.  Whatever, I told myself, it’s the fluorescents.  I’ll just wait until they restock the XXXXXXL’s.  Cuz lezbehonest there’s still a good chunk of winter left and I have A LOT of leftover Valentine’s chocolates and girl scout cookies to burn through.

At the end of it all, I went home with my toilet paper, some coffee filters, a face mask I’ll probably put at the back of my medicine cabinet and forget about, and one half of a bikini.  At this point I figure I’ll just go commando on the bottom, or recycle the perfectly worn in and roomy bottoms of yesteryears.  If the cookies don’t come off, I can always exchange it for a skirted one piece and channel my mother circa 1994.

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That’s me on the left.



2 thoughts on “The Solution to Swimsuit Shopping

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