So I went to the mall yesterday to buy a swimsuit for my upcoming vacation because I am clearly lacking in ways to self-inflict emotional pain. I started out at Lands End, but couldn’t really find the style that I liked.
The style I like might best be called “bathing caftan” instead of “bathing suit”, but it doesn’t seem to have quite caught on yet.
I tried the suit with the little skirt, but that seemed to accentuate the fact I was trying to hide something.
I tried the suit with the higher cut leg, but the amount of blindingly white exposed flesh was a bit much.
I tried the Miracle Suit, but the results weren’t miraculous enough to justify the $135 price tag.
And, just for kicks, I tried a bikini which turned out to be a bit teeny boppery.
And more importantly, teeny.
Trips to two more stores didn’t melt off an extra thirty pounds improve my situation. I was about to throw a hissy fit in the privacy of my flourescent lit 4 x 6 cell when Mr. CPQ called to save the day by offering to meet me for lunch.
I drowned my sorrows in a cheeseburger combo (and I wonder where my extra 30 pounds are coming from) while he said vaguely supportive things like “Can I have one of your onion rings?” and it was then and there that I decided that a good tan is overrated and Jamaica is best seen by meandering the streets rather than sunning myself on the beach, so I hightailed it to J. Jill and found some boyfriend chinos and a couple of cute tops that are conveniently mid-thigh length and hide all of the problem areas.
The covered up end.
Have a nice day.