I’ve tried to convince myself that eating the crust off my child’s sandwich count for half the calories since it is “recycling”. I also figure that walking around with a child clinging to my leg like a starfish during low tide is as good as wearing ankle weights. But the scales don’t lie.
When I stood in front of the dressing room mirror, I could not deny the truth. According to the panty hose chart I was still a Queen.
With summer around the corner I knew I couldn’t put off the inevitable any longer, bathing suit shopping. I would rather have scheduled a root canal. The only thing that was growing bigger, other than my waistline, was my incredibly bad attitude.
Armed with the latest sale insert from the Sunday paper, I set out on my quest. The first store already had their displays accented with color coordinating ice tea glasses and flip flops.
I meandered toward the big racks that had rows of bathing suits of every kind, color and cut and went to the double digit section. Then, I headed for my moment of truth, the dressing rooms.
I looked jaundice the moment I stepped into the florescent lit peach cubicle. I shed my denim jumper and maneuvered into the spandex corset and wondered what the newspaper headlines would announce should I became unconscious. Local mother of six rescued by jaws of life after sales clerk finds her unresponsive from lack of oxygen.
A perky voice from the other side of my door asked, “Is everything all right, or can I get you something?”
“How about a Craftsmen shop vac with a lipo-suction attachment?” I gasped for air.
“What…a shop vac?” inquired sales Barbie.
“Nothing,” I said. “It’s great these colors are making a….a come back.”
“Oh, I know, don’t you just love it. My grandma bought a swimsuit just like that one yesterday. I’ll be out at the front if you need anything.”
I didn’t realize they let twelve year olds work during school hours. I peeled out of the brown floral suit and into a nautical unit with an attached swim skirt. I looked like something from Gilligan’s Island, which wouldn’t have been too bad if I remotely resembled Ginger or even Mary Anne, instead of Skipper’s twin sister.
Looking in the mirrors I was confronted with the naked truth. Literally.. My attention was not focused on what really matters in life, my eyes were on my thighs.
Sure there were plenty of stretch marks, but I have six healthy kids to show for the slightly damaged packaging.
Forty minutes and several trips back and forth to the dressing room later, I found a mix and match tankini, but more importantly I discovered something of greater value.
While bathing suits may be hard to shop for, a good attitude is a one size fits all!