SWIMSUIT: a garment worn for swimming
Sales Lady: May I help you?
Me: Yes. I’m looking for a swimsuit.
Sales Lady: What kind?
Me: Something highly engineered.
Sales Lady: Right this way. Anything in particular you are trying to hide?
Me: My c-section surgeon’s optimism … and the cascade of reality that spills over the misguided tummy tuck.
Sales Lady: Try this one.
The list of things I want to do more than swimsuit shop is long, but it wasn’t as bad as I’d feared. The Sales Lady was unflappable and incredibly patient. Plus, eavesdropping on my fellow patrons provided a novel’s worth of fabulous dialogue and banter that I plan to put to good use.
The lady in the room next to me brought the kind of friend we all say we want but few of us can actually handle: The kind of friend who does not shy away from the term “back fat,” or avoid commenting on the condition of your bikini line, or pretend that you can pull off stripes.
I peaked my head out of my dressing room and offered to rent the friend. She offered her services for free so I asked for her candid assessment of one of my top three swimsuit finalists. She made overly familiar comments about my breasts and thighs and I decided she was more friend than I could handle. I retreated to my dressing room and allowed the tie breaker to be the price tag.
I am the proud owner of an expensive – but not the most expensive – swimsuit. A swimsuit I hunted for over an hour to find and will go to great lengths to avoid wearing.
The cowboy boots I bought right afterward, on the other hand, took me ten minutes to purchase and will be on my feet tomorrow.