It’s that dreaded time of year when women venture out to purchase a swimsuit. I’m no exception and made my pilgrimage on a recent sunny afternoon. My moment of reckoning arrived soon after I entered the tiny dressing room with a fist full of bathing suits of all shapes and sizes and colors. Most were sensible but a few represented my eternal optimism with their bright colors and skimpy styles.
I have fond memories of my sister and me as pre-teens wearing sweet little suits at the beach. They had a blue and white sailor theme with a short white skirt that fell in pleats. I was cute!
Despite the media images that suggest I should be a certain size, I have a reasonably good body image. It’s only on occasion that I remember Twiggy and blame her for the impossibly thin body burned into my retina as a teen. Much good life has happened to me and I don’t regret any of it, but that doesn’t make it easy to shop for the annual swimsuit.
Fortunately, I have been practicing this torture for enough years that I have now perfected my game plan. I crash diet the week before I go for the fittings, in the insane hope that I will magically morph into the slim girl of yesterday when I reach the dressing room door. Then I get so depressed after my selection I always go for a strawberry milkshake. Don’t laugh – I need the consolation.
The act of trying on bathing suits, and worse, actually contemplating putting one on and walking on a crowded beach, swiftly brings me crashing back to reality. I regret all the comfort food I’ve enjoyed through the winter.
I’ve decided it’s time to stop flirting with camouflage. I’ve bought suits with shirred waistlines to hide the belly. I’ve chosen tank tops to de-emphasize the bust and teasing little skirts to accentuate the drooping rear. One year I even paid extra for tummy control but who wants to wear a wet girdle on a hot beach?
This year I chose a suit of armor, with shorts similar to men’s bathing trunks and a top that starts high on my chest and falls to the waist, covering everything of any consequence. Looking in the mirror, I felt good about not showing so much flesh. I can walk and run and swim and build sand castles with the grandchildren.
I might enjoy myself on the beach as much this year as I did those many moons ago when my sister and I frolicked in the ocean in our cute little two pieces, still unconcerned with our body shapes.
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