I am probably the only human in the Mid-Atlantic states who is not in a hurry for warm weather. Okay, let me rephrase that. I WANT warm weather. I am sick of the gray, brown, cold, damp, snowy, rainy garbage that we have endured for the past several months.
I would like to sit out in our back yard, watching the dogs frolic (or battle), listening to the birds chirp (or screech if the dogs are around), smelling the honeysuckle (and sneezing my head off). What I don’t want is—wait for it—bathing suit weather.
The mere typing of the words “bathing suit” makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I don’t like bathing suits. I do, however, like the beach and the pool. So I wear bathing suits. But I don’t like them. And needless to say, I am pretty sure I don’t look good in them. Erase that. I know I don’t look good in them. But I wear them. Reluctantly.
What I actually hate is trying to buy a bathing suit. In the past, I have ordered a bathing suit online. I checked the size chart, chose my size, and ordered a little number called a tankini. The suit consisted of a bathing suit tent… I mean top, and a little pull-on skirt-like garment.
This baby is guaranteed to hide a multitude of sins and it also has the added benefit of being easy to maneuver in case the need for the ladies’ room arises. (Did you ever try to maneuver a wet one-piece bathing suit over wet skin in a public bathroom when the dew point is like 150 percent? Not pretty.)
The suit came in. I was excited. I ripped open the package, took it out (“Oh, this is cute! I like this,” I say to myself), and tried it on. Or rather I tried to try it on. The bottom wasn’t bad. It slipped right on and covered what I need it to cover so as not to frighten anyone. But the top. Not so much.
I actually pulled a muscle in my side trying to wrench this thing on. I had to call my husband for help. When he came into the room, the suit was stretched over my chest and neck, strangling me and causing my arms to be pinned to my sides. I gasped, “Pull this thing down, please.”
George, between snorts of laughter, asked, “How can I pull it down?” I was trying to move my arms in order to get a good grip on some portion of this thing. George finally grabbed the bunched-up material and pulled downward, thus releasing my arms and enabling me to draw a breath.
I tucked everything that needed tucking in and took a gander at myself in the mirror. Nope. Not a chance. Not even in the privacy of my own home. I shimmied out of the bathing suit, crammed it into the package, and returned it. I still have bad dreams about being trapped in that bathing suit.
So I went to an actual store and selected the very few bathing suits in my size that don’t cost two mortgage payments. After being horrified over and over again, I finally found one that I could live with, that didn’t break any laws, and that wouldn’t scare small children on the beach.
Now let me just say that many stores in our area are not good at stocking “plus size” women’s clothing. One store in particular has like three racks of plus sized clothes jammed between the kids’ clothing department and the rest rooms. That’s it.
So finding plus sized clothes that don’t cost an arm and a leg is not an easy task. Throw in the fact that I hate with a passion any kind of clothes shopping and you have an ugly situation just waiting to explode. Hence my penchant for online shopping.
I can choose my garments in the comfort of my own home, wearing my clothing of choice, currently a pair of flannel pajamas with paint on them, and not alarming anyone in the dressing rooms with cursing and crying.
Here’s to a great, warm, sunny, bathing-suit-wearing summer!
,
