my summer spandex battle, part I:: the bikini.

I consider myself a remarkably normal looking person. I work out 6 days a week, and on the 7th day, I cheat. I eat whatever I want and don’t work out… and then on the 8th day, it’s back to eggs and brown rice, baked chicken breast, and salads. Ohhhhh, salads.  And while I consider myself fit, my prime season for looking good? Chunky sweater season… where my back fat blends into my wool blend turtleneck and I can just pretend I’m in the opening credits of Felicity as an extra. In the fall, I walk with extreme body confidence.

 

In a few weeks, I am heading to the Jersey shore with my lady’s family. Seven days of day drinking, vacation-style eating, and general debauchery. You know what that means: mama needs a new swimsuit. Something with some room, ya know? After eating two pounds of fried shrimp and a couple of peach margaritas, I’m not going to want to slip into my tight bikini and flounce around like a walrus in front of my father-in-law. (Yea, I said father-in-law, but don’t worry! Rian and I didn’t elope when we were in Buffalo.  We didn’t have the time.)

 

Anyways… this extremely average gal tried to buy a bathing suit the other day, and my specs did not fit into ANY regular size swimsuits on the fashion market. I’ll tell you what, ladies… I didn’t even put a PRICE limit on my dream suit. Any price, I would’ve invested if it would look good. I had my girlfriend take my measurements… my ass, at the widest, is almost 48 inches. FORTY EIGHT. Take THAT, Sir Mix-A-Lot.  You know the LARGEST size they had on most of these websites? FORTY INCH HIPLINE. Who the FUCK has a 40 inch hipline? I would need to saw off a limb to make those measurements even remotely possible. Or give up cheese. And let’s face it… neither option is feasible.

So I pretty much have one option… to look like this:

and everyone on the beach will be like:

and then I’ll be like:

 

Frustrated and on the verge of tears, I walk away from the computer and mope on the couch. My girlfriend clicks to a new website: torrid.com. Awww, heeeeellllllll no.  Why do I have to shop on a big girl website?  Growing up, Torrid and Lane Bryant represented this ultimate failure. Sure, I may be stuffing into the largest pair of curvy jeans available at this Gap location, but at least I’m not at Torrid.  I had shopped there a few times… they have great jewelry. But even if they had a cute shirt, I couldn’t bring myself to try it on due to my own body dysmorphia-fueled stigma.

 

With tears streaming down my face, I finally decided to click through Torrid’s swimsuit line. EVERYTHING HAS A SWIMSKIRT. Except a black halter one-piece that is so cute. So practical. So me. Do you know how the SIZE chart works at Torrid? Instead of S, M, L…. they have 1X, 2X, 3X…. what am I, a fucking tractor? 4X? Sounds like the numbers that should be after a four-wheeler for sale on Craig’s list, not a lady’s pants size. Oh, and don’t worry… next to the swimsuits is a special link for Spanx. Shit! Am I supposed to wear Spanx under my swimsuit? All sandy and covered in salt water and sweaty and now SPANX?! Why not just wear a goddamn scuba suit and call it a day?!

 

I added the 1X to my cart, defeated. I still haven’t pressed the check out button. I don’t think I ever will.  Add that to the millions of items on the internet I’ve “added to cart” that will never see the light of my living room.  I think I just need to realize that A. I’m getting older, B. My girlfriend is slipping Crisco into my chicken and brown rice so my ass will get bigger because she loves it, and C. L doesn’t stand for Large. It stands for lady. And I’m a fucking lady, goddammit. And I need to get over it.

 

So pass me a swimskirt.  Let’s do this vacation right. And somebody hand me a pile of fried shrimp.

Think Brooke is fucking funny? Come see her headline at the historic Garden Theatre this Wednesday in the Short North at Pride Comedy Night! Shows @ 8 and 10. And don’t miss her open for Fortune Feimster at 12:30pm on Sunday at Wall Street Night Club!

 

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