La Meridionale Ballerina

Long time, no blog!

The cruise countdown begins now…only two more days!  I am so ready.

Liar!  I don’t even have sunscreen yet!  I have to pack, I have to get over this stupid cold (my theory is it’s a result of the notorious middle Tennessee pollen count…stupid state).  But I am so ready to be on vacation.

One thing I did accomplish this weekend was purchase a bathing suit.  This task had been the source of much anxiety (again, very Cathy-like, as much as I hate to admit it).  Ballet class has been usurped by teeny, tiny teenagers off for the summer who do splits with their faces on their knees when they’re bored.

I hate them.

Point being, we’ve been a bit self-conscious as of late.

I have a swimsuit currently.  It was $14 on sale at Target.  It is the most boring black tankini you’ve ever seen.  The only detail on it is a pale pink stripe at the top of the bottoms (which are most unflatteringly low cut on the leg) that (ingenious design!) gets covered up by the top part.  It is a perfect hiding swimsuit.  This swimsuit makes me feel like I’m a 35 year old mother of three.

Which I am not.

So somehow, amist not being able to breathe or swallow because of said cold, I saundered into the local Water Water Everywhere with the goal of finding something slightly less matronly. 

Such as a bright turquoise bikini with a gold ring on the top, complete with gold beads dangling from the ring.  It screams "look at me!  Look at my stomach!  Ooh, there are my legs and my butt!  Look!  Look!  Look!"

So I did.  I looked in the mirror.  I tried on the other black (boring) suits I had brought into the dressing room with me.  I tried the turquoise one on again.  I acknowledged that it draws attention to my not-quite-runneth-over top, my a little-too-much-runneth-over middle, and the fact that my skin tone is barely a shade darker than printer paper.

And then I said, "screw it. I’m 24 years old, I’m going on vacation to the Carribean, I am buying this suit."

So I did.  Along with the matching, see-through sarong.

The price of saying screw it?  Oh, somewhere around $120.

Anxiety returned after paying ($120!!!?  There goes my money for eveningwear for the cruise formal nights!)  So I sat down with The Boy at home.

"Um, I bought a bathing suit."

"You did?  That’s great!"

"Yeah…"

"Go try it on!"

I come out in my screaming, turquoise, gold flashy dangling thing suit.  I am cringing, but I show The Boy.  

"Mmm…."

Cringe.

"You look like…"

Cringe.

"…a Sports Illustrated swimsuit model."

And this, ladies and gentlemen, is why I pay him the big bucks.  $120 in this case (though it did come with a matching sarong). 

Regardless, I’ll take it! 

This entry was posted on Wednesday, July 19th, 2006 at 8:42 am and is filed under Fashion (Does Not Equal Sleepy Pants), Mushy Stuff. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.