Most women would lose a few pounds before going swimsuit shopping. It makes sense; most of us don't want to be showing our 'wobbly bits,' as a former blogger I liked would say.
But when you decide, based on feedback from your doc, encouragement from a few students and your office mate, to use swimming as the exercise of choice to lose the weight -- it's the most non-impact and safe for iffy joints -- it means that you have to go swimsuit shopping while. you're. fat.
Hey, when your office mate offers to be your workout partner for four nights a week -- two swimming, two gym -- and she has been running in the morning for the past eight years so you know she's dedicated and will keep you honest, you sort of jump at the opportunity. Right?
So you schedule a Thursday after work to go swimsuit shopping, only to be hit by a major snowstorm. Only you won't let that stop you...oh no, a little snowstorm won't get in the way of next Monday's swim.
So you trod through slushy snow and icy temps to penn station, and hit the only two stores in the area that might have suits that fit: Lane Bryant, and Macy's. You walk two blocks to Lane Bryant first, only to find that they won't be carrying suits in that particular store, just online. The closest store to carry suits will be in Brooklyn.
Hello? Buying a swimsuit ONLINE???!!! You'd have to have a good $1500 handy to order a dozen of them to try, or try one or two at a time -- which would take you six months to find a fucking suit that fit.
So on you trudge, back out in the treacherous, slippery, wet cold, back a block to Macy's (did you know you use entirely different muscles to stay on your feet in slippery circumstances, than you do for regular walking...you'll be very sore later on). Their directory says plus sized swimsuits on 5, so you go there. No suits at all. So you try 7, where the other plus clothes are. Nothing. You finally ask someone. Have you tried 8, the salesclerk says. That's where everything was moved to from 5.
Sure, that makes sense -- not. But up you go to 8, and there you are greeted by a fairly large selection of suits. You walk through the lot, but don't see any plus sizes. So you ask the salesclerk, who says the plus sized suits haven't been delivered yet.
And of course that makes perfect sense. Because as you well know, the designers, the retailers, and half the world are not-so-subtly telling you that they don't want you fatsos even trying on swimsuits, let alone actually wearing them in public. They wouldn't be able to handle the trauma of not being able to take their eyes away from the train wreck of you in a swimsuit with all those wobbly bits actually wobbling.
So you walk through the suits, over and over, pulling anything off the racks that might come close to fitting you, and you take the first dozen into a fitting room. The clerk in the fitting room is quite nice, so your experience isn't horrible in that respect. But let's just say that everything you try is an exercise of its own -- an exercise in futility.
And you're not even looking, at this point, for anything pretty or that makes you feel good about yourself. No, you just want something that fits, something simple, and something on the modest side. Modest, because you'll be exercising in the university pool, and you wouldn't want to be embarrassed all to hell if you ran into a student, or god forbid, the college president.
So you go out to pick through the racks again, willing to try two-piece tankini sets and swimskirts and things, as long as you're covered. And you try one more time in the dressing room. And the very. last. thing. that you try on, actually fits. It fits! Nearly three hours and two dozen suits later, you hit paydirt.
And while it doesn't make you look lovely, it doesn't completely embarrass you either. It's not so tight that anything hangs over the edges. And if you adjust the straps in the front, it'll keep the top up to a modest coverage in the chestal area.
Talk about a miracle on 34th street!!!!!!!! Sure, it mashes your boobs down which emphasizes your huge tummy even more, but you're willing to deal with that. Really, you are. It fits!
And then you look at the tag and discover it's a designer suit: Calvin Klein, of all people. And it's a whopping $112. So you go up to the cash register to use your Macy's card, and it's denied. Apparently the payment you made online two days ago hasn't posted to your account yet. So you have to pay with your debit card.
And so, you do what any reasonable woman would do after such a traumatic evening. You pay for the suit, and then you find yourself just a little bit of some really good chocolate. And you find your guilty pleasure: a People mag.
After a stop at Modell's for a swim cap (required in the pool) and goggles (a necessity for a contact lens wearer), a subway ride, and a brief walk, you arrive home soaked from toes to knees, frozen, and exhausted.
A quick dinner of leftovers, and you plop on the sofa with the portable heater and a blanket, your chocolate, and the People mag, to watch the finals of the women's figure skating in Vancouver. But because the stupid station has split up all the sports, you'll need the crossword puzzle in the mag, and the chocolate, to keep you occupied when the station goes to something totally lame like curling.
You know there's a special place in hell for swimsuit designers. One where they all get fat. And then have to wear their own designs.
photo is the actual suit, but of course picturing it on the model won't help you visualize it on me, now will it?