Coincidence that "bathing suit" shortened is "B.S."? I think not.

Is there any other word that is more capable of striking dread in the hearts of  normally self confident women than “bathing suit”?   I discovered today the bikini was named after Bikini Atoll where nuclear weapon testing was done.  Form your own conclusions.

As I do when driving by a highway accident, I try so very unsuccessfully to avert my eyes at checkout counters where “Hot Celebrity Beach Bod” spreads  beckon.  And even though I know with 100% certainty that models’ woefully large 21 inch thighs (insert sarcastic snicker) have been photoshopped down to a mere 12 or 13 inches, the typical girth of an 8 year olds, I am still drawn in to shameful, self loathing that makes me want to go eat a bunch of New York Fries in order to feel better.  I know that I should be revelling in and celebrating my strong, healthy body that is capable of doing so much and normally (okay, 83% of the time give or take) I am,  but under  ghastly change room lights surrounded by 3 way mirrors and nowhere to look but in those mirrors, sometimes my “Yippee, my body is so great” spirit gets somewhat dampened.

So with summer looming (he he, it being the third week of July and all) and crazy sales on at the mall, and having eaten no breakfast in order to shave .6 of an ounce off my tummy, I ventured into the mall.  Armed with information I gleaned from a “what kind of suit to wear for your body type” web site, I went in search of a suit that was capable of simultaneously elongating my legs, reducing my post pregnancy pouch (I don’t have to be reminded that the last time I was pregnant was 18 years ago thank you very much), and covering  nasty thigh bits (at some point in my life I will get over the boy friend I had at age 16 saying that my thighs could feed a family of 4 for a week). I rapidly got a headache from the lack of appropriate alternatives despite two trips to the change room.  To add insult to injury, the bottoms alone cost more than I typically spend on a dinner for two with wine.    But after several discouraging tries I finally managed to find one that, although I don’t love, it also doesn’t make me want to hurl into a bag and send that bag to the clueless, misogynistic designers of women’s bathing suits.  I think I will have some fries to celebrate my purchase with maybe a side of Big Mac.