Bathing Suit Blues

It's no secret that women, especially us Hungry Girls, tremble in fear at the mere thought of going bathing suit shopping.  My experience tends to go something like this...

I wake up at 8 a.m. with a sense of dread in the pit of my stomach.  I shower, get dressed, and leave the house at precisely 9 a.m. armed only with a cup of black coffee.

When I arrive at the store, I make a beeline straight for the bathing suits.  But as I approach the lycra and spandex oasis, I halt in my steps.  SONOFA!!!!  There, before me, are two size 4 teenage girls pawing through the multitude of  bathing suits in their sizes.  They chirp back and forth about the pros and cons of boy shorts versus low-rise bikini bottoms while I make my ways towards the "plus size" section.  And by "section", I mean half a rack of god-awful bathing suits that some skinny designer created in hopes of deterring fat women everywhere from ever wearing a bathing suit in public.  I consider putting on my sunglasses, as I'm sure the bright colors and obnoxious patterns are surely burning my retinas.  Animal prints, racing stripes, color-blocking, and oh the humanity!  Skirts, skorts, tankinis, cover-ups the size of Wyoming... its a wasteland of the most undesirable fabrics and prints imaginable.  But, I push on...

I begin flipping through the bathing suits, my eye on the prize... the Holy Grail of plus-size bathing suits... the solid black one-piece with tummy control and built-in underwire.  I pull out suit after suit, piling them on my shopping cart like the leaning Tower of Pisa (no, not pizza ladies, Pisa).  After exhausting the few options before me, I head toward the dressing rooms where the sweet old lady counts my items and sends me to my cubicle. 

Its dark, poorly lit, and smells faintly of sweaty feet.  I undress and grab the first suit on the top of the pile, the one with the most potential.  Maybe, just maybe, I will only have to try on ONE today.  Maybe the first one I try on with be THE ONE and I can go home, happy that I accomplished my mission quickly and efficiently.

But as I wiggle my hips into the bathing suit, I know that this is not THE ONE.  Its a low swoop neck and "the girls" are like two-pound hams stuffed into a one-pound bag.  It's obscene.  Off comes suit #1 and on goes suit #2.  This one has a tag boasting it's "superior tummy control", but apparently this Hungry Girl's tummy is un-controllable because I might as well be wearing a wet t-shirt.  Suits #s 3, 4, and 5 are a horror show of flab, back fat, and cellulite.  At this point I'm sweating.  And I'm pissed.  And I'm on the verge of tears.  There is one more bathing suit left in my pile and I can't even bring myself to try it on.  It has a skirt, for pete's sake!!  And its green zebra stripes!  I draw the line at technicolor animal prints, thankyouverymuch.

I get re-dressed, feeling defeated and exhausted as I leave behind the dressing room of my morning's failures.  I make my way to the front of the store, careful to avoid eye contact with the size-4s who are now browsing the junior section, snatching up every tank top and short-shorts they can find.  I slink out to my car, feeling fatter and more pathetic than I have in months.  I will never find a bathing suit that fits.  I will never go swimming again.  Hell, I may never leave my HOUSE again! 

As I drive home, I pass a Good Times.  Perhaps a cheeseburger will make me feel better...