Swimsuits are the Debil

I guarantee that, unless you're Giselle, no woman likes swimsuit shopping. I say Giselle, because I've met her. I've sold her bras and fastened those bras and rang up her $3500 transaction and it was the easiest damn process I've ever witnessed in my whole damn life. I doubt swimsuit shopping is hard for her.

Bee tee dubs, she's a sweetheart.

Anywayyyy, if you're one of the millions of other women on the planet, I can pretty much guarantee you hate swimsuit shopping. It sucks. It just totally sucks.

Even when I was a much tinier little thing (minus the childhood years) and someone who called herself a swimmer and so owned a couple thousand swimsuits (that might be slightly hyperbolic), finding the right fits was arduous at best.

Even when I was a damned dancer and weighed 30 pounds less, I was always fairly pear shaped. I got an ass at like age 21 or so, right around the time my boobs went from a A cup to a B (and then pretty much stayed there until...oh...right now). Even when I was comfortable wearing bikinis, because it was the Millenium (oooooh!) and that meant I walked around showing off my belly button and tramp stamp (procured before that adorable name for such a tattoo existed and probably named for girls like me), it was the days before mix and match swimwear and I'd buy bikinis in two sizes to piece together one that fit. Thanks, Target!

Cut to many years later. Cut to 30 pounds later. Cut to an image of my ass and stomach getting bigger and bigger and my boobs staying the same goddamned size. Cut to looking more like a pear that tried to be an apple but forgot to ask for some boobs! Cut to not being able to fit my ass into any of the swimsuits I currently own, including the one I bought last summer. Cut to having an event in three weeks where there will be a pool in which I would like to actually swim and not sit beside in a caftan and a cocktail like Liza Minnelli.

It's not as if I can transform into Giselle from Liza in three weeks. No amount of crunches will do that.

Thus began the search for a suitable swimsuit. One that would accentuate my curves while covering my belly, but that doesn't make me look like a grandmother or a Mormon or a 12 year old. As if a 12 year old has this ass.

And I found one that I loved at ModCloth, that purveyor of all things retro and vintage and this suit was Marilyn meets Esther Williams and I was going to look adorable in it.

So, with Eminem's help, I measured myself to see what size I would be. According to my bust, I'd be a Medium or an 8. According to my ass, I'd be an XL or 16. There's really no compromising there. Either it would be baggy in the boobs or it would be riding up my ass. And I'm really not looking to wear a thong.

And I've never worn a 16 in my life. In pants right now, I'm about a 12. That 16 was yelling at me, calling me a fatass, telling me I fucked myself up and I should be ashamed and just get lipo already.

And to top it all off? I did the whole support chat line. The gal was all, SMILEY FACE! How can I help you? I was all, yeah I can't figure out which size I need. And she was all, Yeah you'll want at least a 16 or it will be too restrictive, but don't worry. It will just be a bit baggy in the bust. But we do free returns! SMILEY FACE! And I was all, Thanks for nothing. Do you sell guns to shoot yourself with too?

Cut to a complete meltdown.

The thing is: I don't think I'm fat. I've gained some weight, which I'm working on losing, and am struggling with, admittedly, because I've never had trouble losing weight this much before. But you don't have to leave me comment telling me how not fat I am or how pretty I am, etc. Please don't. I'll just delete those.

The thing is: I wasn't stoked about my weight gain, but I didn't feel that fat until some website told me I was.

It's not like I even felt they were telling me I was fat. I felt like they were telling me my body type was unacceptable. They carry plus sizes! It's okay to be a lot bigger than I am...as long as you have boobs too.

And, because I'm apparently a masochist, I searched and searched online, during this meltdown, sobbing all the while, for swimsuits in my size. I searched for one pieces and tankinis. Even the mix and match tankinis? I couldn't find bottoms that came in my size. I found a custom suit website, but I'm really not looking to pay $200 for a suit.

And I shouldn't have to pay that much for a suit just because I don't have boobs.

I know it's not that uncommon. There have to be plenty of women folk who are bottom heavy. And we want to swim too!

PS? So not getting a boob job either. It's not a "my body is sacred" kind of thing; it's a "I worked in lingerie and saw enough bad boob jobs to be scarred for life" kind of thing. So my boobs will just be small. Until my fairy godmother makes them a nice full C that is.

Poor Eminem watched me melt down and then self flagellate and then finally I gave up and gave in with a pathetic, childish whimper and decided dramatically that I would just never swim again. I'd sit by the pool in my jeans and just have a fat ass and fine. Pouty pout pout.

It's such a shame I don't have much flair for the dramatic.

Anyway, we went to Target today, who doesn't discriminate against the fat-assed, and I found a decent fitting tankini that wasn't fabulously vintage and didn't scream Marilyn, but which did fit me and which neither makes me look like a grandmother or a Mormon or even Liza. It looks nice, something a thirty-something would wear and actually swim in. And, yes, the bottoms say XL and the top says M. So what?

Thank the mother effing love out of Target, ladies. They love us just as we are.

I learned to love my small boobs a long time ago. Now I just have to learn to love my ass too. And to find some more time to work out too. Can't just let this ass take over everything now, like The Blob or something.