Bathing suit shopping.
It was a nice day Saturday, and we decided, on a whim, to head over to beach side. (We live in Florida.) But I didn’t have a bathing suit. All my old clearance cast-offs are on their last leg, faded with busted elastic.
We start at Target because, you know, budget. The suits there are cute, and I love Target as much as the next red-blooded American female, but they’re like…not stretchy enough. With medium tops, my boobs squish out the sides. With larges, my boobs don’t fill the cup at all. I realize part of the problem is that my boobs are shaped like tube socks. *glares angrily at children*
I start with the “full coverage” racks.
There’s a granny suit with giant flowers that screams “I’M AGING BUT WHIMSICAL!”
There’s another granny suit that is solid black and screams “I’M INSECURE ABOUT MY WEIGHT, AND BLACK IS SLIMMING.”
Shit. I move to the…other racks.
Rows and rows of triangles with strings, and all these suits scream: “I AM COMFORTABLE WITH MY FAT ROLLS, NO THANKS, YOU GUYS GO BOOGIE BOARDING WITHOUT ME.” You know, because if you get surprised by a wave, the entire beach is getting a show. *waves tube socks at everyone*
My children are playing hide-and-seek in the racks and trumpeting like elephants. I’m swallowing back tears. My husband’s like, fuck this, we’re going to one of those shops on the beach.
Like, as in, the specialty shops where I swore I would NEVER buy a bathing suit. Who spends $100 on a freaking bathing suit anyway? For Pete’s sake, children are starving in the world.
But my husband drags me in there and is like DO NOT EVEN LOOK AT THE PRICE TAGS. Some cute retro bottoms jump out at me right away so of course I immediately look at the price tag: $70.
Just for the bottoms.
I bead of sweat drips down my spine and into my butt crack.
I take the suit with me just to…see. No way will I spend $140 on a suit, but I’m curious. They’re these lacy high-waisted beauties that make me want to pose like a 1940’s centerfold just looking at them. But I grab like 8 suits from the “cheap” section too, where prices were more in the $60 – $80 range. So affordable.
Side note: WTF with the floating triangles in bathing suit tops??? Dear bathing suit people: JUST SEW THAT SHIT IN. We have kids and don’t have time to dig out a fucking triangle of fabric from our bathing suit top to try to reposition it to hide our stupid nipples. We have grilled cheeses to make and butts to wipe. Just sew the damn triangle into the suit, thanks.
It’s time to try shit on.
A couple of the “cheap” ones are okay, though I gotta say, examining oneself in the mirror in these places is an extreme exercise in self-acceptance. I’m deep-breathing and telling my back fat I love it just as much as I love my hips. I’ll say that shit till I believe it, okay?
I save the $140 one for last, figuring I’ll try it just for fun, despite having zero expectation of buying it. You know where this is going. All the other suits, they’re either comfortable but hideous or cute but hideously uncomfortable. I don’t want wires. I don’t want thick ties around my neck. I don’t want bottoms so tight they cut off my femoral artery and make my feet go numb. I don’t want the waist band to be such that my stomach rolls over the top of it.
Of course the $140 suit is perfect. It feels like my most comfortable bra and underwear. It stretches right over my parts like it was made for me, like a bathing suit god blessed me with it. It looks so awesome it makes me want to have sex with myself. I want to go to the pool just so I can wear it.
The older I get, the more I realize you really do get what you pay for.
So I buy it. I’ll write an extra article this month to pay for it, and if I’m being honest, I’ll probably wear this suit for the next decade.
Never in a million years did I think I’d spend $140 on a freaking bathing suit. But here we are, and I don’t feel one ounce of guilt. And, when it comes time for you to treat yourself to a new suit, I hope you won’t either.