Today when we were down in Waikiki to pick our son up from his snooze at the zoo, I ran into a fellow co-worker. He was out walking his dog wearing a pair of shorts and slippahs (what you mainlanders call “flip-flops”) and that’s all. And while, as my significant other pointed out later on, he didn’t look bad, it was just bad for me. You are having a polite conversation with a co-worker. And he is half naked. And you are all politeness but where do the eyes go. Exposed chest? Bare arms? At least there was a dog. Pay attention to the dog.
Later in the day, I decided to go shopping for a new bathing suit. The one I have is the one I got right after I gave birth making it about eight years old. My mom threatened me over the phone from NY by telling me that she did not want to see that suit again this year. I had been duly warned. The thing is, it is not like I haven’t tried in the past. I spent a good long time shopping in Target last year but nothing really worked out for me. Maybe I was in the junior’s section. Hard to say. With a stay-cation coming up which will involve a lot of pool/beach time, I made today a do or die bathing suit day. I ended up in Macy’s since I had a gift card which helps me out since I am such a cheapskate. I figured the gift card would subsidize my purchase enough to force me to purchase something that would actually fit appropriately. Something that appropriately fit might cost more than I would really like to pay.
First trip in the fitting room. Tops did not really fit well. And bottoms, well, my bottom is not entirely small. And I know that since I have lived in Hawaii so long I have mostly gotten over the belief that you have to have a bikini body in order to wear a bikini. I have gotten to the point where a one-piece suit actually seems very, very odd to me. Funnily enough, I actually found a bottom on sale in what I would consider to be the “young” section. They had hurley, volcom and roxy. It seems that the lower cut of the bottom actually was a bit slimming since the say, five or so pounds I need to lose, was not bound or pinched, just kind of hanging out there. The top was more problematic. I need support. When I had actually gone to have my bra sized for me some time ago, well, the cup size that I was told I am is a size which is frequently used as a punchline. Enough said. Plus I have the misfortune of inheriting my grandmother’s fatty underarm. These two facts combine to make it difficult to find a top which fits and doesn’t make me look like I have four boobs. Four boobs are not better than two. Trust me. After finding the more womanly section I was able to find a top that met my containment needs. As I looked at myself in the mirror, with a junior’s bottom and a woman’s top, it somehow it felt right. Didn’t match but felt right. I definitely have some work do to in order to feel as confident as my bare-chested co-worker did today. I think that he had the right idea and that I could take a lesson from him. That it doesn’t matter where the eyes go. It’s all OK.