Bathing Suit Shopping: A Slow and Painful Death


Trying on bathing suits is not my most favorite of things to do. However, when you’re in Florida, and the sun is shining, and your luggage is lost in some airport in the middle of nowhere, then you really have no choice but to go shopping for those spandex, waterproof full body underwear. It gets a lot easier to shop for things when you keep getting smaller. I find that the smaller I get, the more product there is on the shelf for me to rummage through– lucky me! So anyway, when it comes to me, there’s always an adventure: I’m already frustrated because I had the perfect bathingsuit for the perfect tan line in my lost luggage, I walk into TJ Maxx with the most sour look on my face.

The reasons for my water wear shopping aggravation are:

1) Because I’m cheap and don’t want to spend money on something that I already have
and
2) because bathing suit shopping is not fun, and I always feel like Pilsbury dough girl.

So after twenty minutes of fighting off some lady who kept taking the good stuff, I found three decent suits. Donald decided to accompany me to the dressing room to be my fashion assistant. I tried on one with like those tears on the side, you know the kind those fit models wear? It looked pretty decent from the top, and then the lower it went, the more I looked like my stomach was trying to escape my body. Next was this decent one that had a zipper up the side, I tried it on inside out and it looked spectacular; that one went in my purchase pile. Last but definitely not least was this marvelous blue strapless one piece. It was made by Spanx, so I knew that everything would be sucked in and I would look wonderful. After ten minutes of struggling to get it on, and breaking a sweat, I walked out of the dressing room, crouching over like a hunchback unable to move my legs or arms. Donald was under the impression that I had fallen to the floor and forgotten how to walk. I looked in the mirror to discover what the problem was. It turns out what I thought was a full piece bathingsuit, was actually just a bottom to a tankini. I tucked everything into that bottom, and with one movement, everything would have been out for the world to see. It did however suck everything in, it’s really too bad it didn’t look good.

Since the bathing suit incident, Donald hasn’t been able to look at me the same way since, I really don’t blame him. I still get the shivers just thinking about it.

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Everything Is Bad For Me


My life has been spectacular these last couple of weeks! Donald and I took a vacation to Florida two weeks ago. I’m now black, and I must say, it’s extremely slimming. It sucks though because I know I can’t tan every day. I mean, I could always try and find a job selling beach chairs and digging umbrellas in the sand on some private island for fancy tourists, but that’s manual labor, and manual labor and I don’t really mix well together.

Why is it that everything I like doing is bad for me? Food makes me fat, suntanning with oil and Coca-Cola all over my body will cause skin cancer. It’s like I don’t like anything that’s good for me…except pickles. Pickles are amazing snacks.. but now that I think of it, I think they’re really high in sodium and probably bad for me too. So, my weight loss stall has stopped, and things are moving again! In this last month, I have gone down like three cheek sizes on my face, and lost another chin. Ronnie Ginger, my non-abusive-very-loving-but-extremely-critical-mother finally notices a change and tells me every time she sees me that I’m changing and that I’m so pretty! I’ve been talking to myself a lot lately. I remind myself that the candies which are at me straight in the face are dumb and will make my teeth yellow and stomach fat. Now, when I sit in the car, my stomach doesn’t really go anywhere near the steering wheel for the first time in a long time I could see more toes than ever when I look down! I’ve also banned myself from the scale. I’m not sure if it’s because I’m afraid to see what the number is, or because if I get on the scale and lose, I know I’ll treat myself to a cheat day, that will turn into a cheat week, that will turn into fat cheeks and a triple chin. Either way, I know that the scale is not my friend and the only person that can weigh me is my doctor. The scale is evil, not nice.

Life is good, things are looking up, and the scale is going down!