 I wonder if she's trying on a bathing suit as well. I decided I
didn't want to find out, as she could be some 20-year-old hottie
stressing out about the fact that her boobs didn't fill out her bra.
Assault and battery within the confines of a dressing room is
clearly not commonplace and it would certainly be aired on the local
news."Filling out" my bathing suit was not my problem and had not
been my problem since I had to start shopping for one-piece suits.
Bikinis weren't even in the realm of possibilities after I'd had
children.
My stretch marks are actually a road map where every road leads
directly to the cavernous darkness that is, or was, my belly button.
If my husband saw fit to yell anywhere in the near vicinity of my
belly button, he'd hear an echo 15 minutes later.
I stared in the mirror in that cursed dressing room and saw a
pair of dumpy, white legs that hadn't seen the sun or a razor since
last summer. A pair of cellulite-ridden thighs topped them off, and
above that was that bathing suit I thought was so perfect while it
was still on the rack. Only it was so … not perfect.
We're going to Florida to visit friends who incidentally also
have five children. Those are the only kind of people who would let
my family visit en masse … other than family, that is. They pretty
much have to.
The last time we visited, we went to the beach and there was a
rogue downpour. I happened to have their youngest daughter and mine
with me when this cloudburst occurred. The girls and I ran to the
towels and blankets and made a tent where we waited out the storm.
We wriggled and scooched around in our little tent. The girls were
just delighted with the turn of events.
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 It wasn't until the storm was over and the others returned from
their hiding places that I learned that I'd made a huge impression …
in a loaf of bread: the same loaf of bread with which we were to
make sandwiches for our picnic. It was apparently under my rather
largish butt the entire time. They insisted on using that loaf of
bread anyway, even though it looked more like sheets of whole-wheat
paper.
Needless to say, I had hoped to make a better impression this
year, but hopefully not on any foodstuffs. This bathing suit will
not help with that, however.
I can see it now… I'll walk to the beach wearing this hideous
piece of work, and everyone will grab their loaves of bread -- and
small pets that might resemble a loaf of bread -- and evacuate the
beach.
I looked in the mirror again. What a disaster! I mean, what's
with those strings hanging off the suit where my waist should be?
Should I expect a horde of Lilliputians to come rappelling down my
thighs?
That certainly would make an impression, wouldn't it?
[By LAURA SNYDER]
You can reach the writer at
lsnyder@lauraonlife.com
Or visit www.lauraonlife.com
for more columns and info about her books.
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