The Horror
So I'm packing for Hawaii, and I pull out my swimsuit for a little try-on session. [Insert scary music here.]
It looks so cute spread out on the bed with my cover-up and matching flip flops - almost like a 20yo's instagram post. Joe's at the gym [insert yakety sax music here] (where, clearly, I should join him), and I figure it's as good a time as any to squeeze my pale, dry, beer and chocolate lovin' flubber into that oh-so-cute suit that suddenly seems more like it's made for a small child or a chihuahua. God help me.
For those of you who know me, you will agree without hesitation that I have somewhat of a rack. I mean, I'm not Dolly Parton by any means, but the girls have minds of their own and will dangle precariously or shove their way into my line of sight whenever they're set free. Corralling them into the bundt cake-sized molded cups of my tankini actually took more than a minute.
I quickly glanced in the mirror to make sure they were settling in correctly and saw the - the only word that came to mind - the greatness of my belly protruding from the sudden shade like a manatee peeking out from underneath two jellyfish. I grabbed the hem of the tankini and pulled down furiously, remedying the situation, but causing one the girls to burst forth from her captor. This may take a while.
Finally situating the top to my liking, I reached for my board shorts. "This should be much easier," I say out loud to them, as if to will them into submission. The good thing about these shorts is they only have a flap and a string tie - not a lot of room for error, but lots of room for flubber. And - as if they'd heard me - they laced up just fine (read: nothing is trying to escape).
A final look in the mirror (with a heavy sigh and silent promise to go with Joe to the gym), gives me a bit of confidence. While I'm hoping that the beach won't be too crowded, I'm satisfied that I won't embarrass my self too much. And I'm certain I'll look better with a tan!
It looks so cute spread out on the bed with my cover-up and matching flip flops - almost like a 20yo's instagram post. Joe's at the gym [insert yakety sax music here] (where, clearly, I should join him), and I figure it's as good a time as any to squeeze my pale, dry, beer and chocolate lovin' flubber into that oh-so-cute suit that suddenly seems more like it's made for a small child or a chihuahua. God help me.
For those of you who know me, you will agree without hesitation that I have somewhat of a rack. I mean, I'm not Dolly Parton by any means, but the girls have minds of their own and will dangle precariously or shove their way into my line of sight whenever they're set free. Corralling them into the bundt cake-sized molded cups of my tankini actually took more than a minute.
I quickly glanced in the mirror to make sure they were settling in correctly and saw the - the only word that came to mind - the greatness of my belly protruding from the sudden shade like a manatee peeking out from underneath two jellyfish. I grabbed the hem of the tankini and pulled down furiously, remedying the situation, but causing one the girls to burst forth from her captor. This may take a while.
Finally situating the top to my liking, I reached for my board shorts. "This should be much easier," I say out loud to them, as if to will them into submission. The good thing about these shorts is they only have a flap and a string tie - not a lot of room for error, but lots of room for flubber. And - as if they'd heard me - they laced up just fine (read: nothing is trying to escape).
A final look in the mirror (with a heavy sigh and silent promise to go with Joe to the gym), gives me a bit of confidence. While I'm hoping that the beach won't be too crowded, I'm satisfied that I won't embarrass my self too much. And I'm certain I'll look better with a tan!
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