Dante's Lost Circle of Hell

Just 4 more days until we have a weekend away! There, as always, is a lot to do, but I'm excited. Peanut is excited (she can hardly wait to go on Opa's big boat), and if Chub-chub had any concept of time, I'm sure he'd be on pins and needles, too.

Since it is such a short time until we leave, I'm already gearing up for our family weekend in Seattle. As a part of the planning I am already envisioning what I'm going to pack. It sounds a bit shallow (well, o.k, a lot shallow) but that's where I'm at. This is a good thing, in a round about way. As a part of my planning for the weekend (we're staying at the Marriott--ooh, the swimming pool) I have discovered I need a swimsuit.



Yes. A swimsuit. *screaming and sounds of agony*



I have discovered in my pre-trip planning that the swimsuit that I currently own is fairly on the ginormously too big side. This makes me happy. It actually is a demonstrable way seeing that I have in fact shed 60 unsightly pounds in the past 21 months. When you have a lot of weight to lose, as I still do, it is sometimes really hard to see the changes. Even 60 pounds worth of change can be somewhat tough to see.



Take, for example, my fattest FAT PANTS. I saved my fattest FAT PANTS to remind me of why I cannot sit on the couch and watch paint peel while getting take-away for dinner. I tried them on just yesterday for a morale boost: it was good. I could physically see where my waistline was at (even at my heaviest, my FAT PANTS were tight in the waist, hips, and thighs) and I can see that my new-er waist line sits a comfortable 4.5 inches inside the circumference of the old. My hips and thighs can swim inside the old FAT PANTS. This makes me very happy; it makes me very happy, indeed.



I digress. As usual.



Anyhow, I was mentally envisioning myself playing in the sunshine and splashing in the swimming pool with my chickadees, but not in the old swimsuit. Couldn't possibly wear it, lest I offer a free burlesque show to the poor unsuspecting sunbathers poolside. So, that meant one thing and one thing only: swimsuit shopping *blood curdling howls of terror*



Now, if you've a svelte figure that you've always had or kept hold of by religiously punishing your body at the gym, you won't be able to relate to what is to follow. You go on ahead and just cruise on over to another blog. Go on, save your self some time and trouble. Ok. Now, the rest of the 68% of you (us) out there that have *gulp* blossomed past a size 14, here's the scary part.



Swimsuit shopping is enough to give any healthy, in-shape, self-possessed woman a case of body dysmorphic disorder. Swimsuit shopping for the overly endowed, voluptuous sort is something akin to having bamboo rods shoved violently under your fingernails and asking "please, sir, may I have some more?" This type of shopping is a grueling task master who likes to crack the whip of self-loathing, under glaring overhead lighting. No one looks good in overhead lighting; if you've got a little cottage cheese to go along with your squishy dough rolls, it is even less flattering.



I trekked to many stores, spanning two cities.

Fred Meyer: Nope.

Wal-Mart: Nope (they design suits for midgets*. I swear, the suits I tried on there either left me glad that my bikini line is neat and well groomed or wishing my boobs hadn't gone as far south as they had.)

JC Penney: not only did they not have any air-conditioning on, there was a waiting line at multiple dressing rooms and when I finally got into one of the sweaty little stalls there was someone else's mess waiting for me. Now, that was just disgusting.



So, I thought I'd try out Nordstrom. I love 'Nordies.' Granted, the Nordstrom we have here is what I call "Ghetto-Nordies":it is only two floors, and the women's, Brass Plum, children's, and children's shoes occupy one of the floors--so a very small and limited selection, but I still enjoy it (too bad the prices are a bit STEEP). Good 'ol Nordstrom, should have something, right?

Wrong. They had exactly 4 swimsuits above a size 14, all of which were so old-lady even old ladies would have gagged.



My favorite stand-by: Target (tar_Shay, ya know how to say it). Nada. Again, the suits had midget syndrome. Hey, I'm tall (5' 8") but, not freakishly tall like, for example, the women folk on my husband's side (his little sis' stands at a diminutive 6' 1"). So I should be able to fit into a suit. American women aren't that short.



I eventually wound up at Macy's. I'll forever think of it as Meier & Frank--calling it Macy's just feels wrong somehow even though the buy-out has been several months ago now.

Once at Macy's I slogged down to the ground floor and wrestled my way through the remodel going on to find the swimsuits. For moi: exactly 1 rack. Uno. ONE! And on that ONE rack there were about 5 different styles of suit. I found 3 different suits that weren't too 'old-lady' or too 'ugly' or too 'midget-ish' and drug myself into the dressing room. I tried each and every one on at least two times. I figured this was the end of the road. Short of a 45 minute drive to a bigger city, my swimsuit shopping options were exhausted.



It is funny, how when you try on swimsuits, you suck in your gut, square your shoulders, twist and turn in vain to look smaller. Uh-uh. No matter what you do, in that 6'x6' portal to hell, nothing makes a dang bit of difference. Yet, we still try. Why is that? If I suck 'it' in, its gotta go somewhere; so, likely, if I suck in my gut, the 'suck in' probably bulges out somewhere less flattering, like my butt. Or my thighs. Oh, my thighs...we're just not even going to go there...



After my dressing room calisthenics I finally decided on a two-piece 'tankini'. It is a simple brown with white piping/edging and a criss-cross back (gotta have the extra support to keep the girls in line--no black eyes for me after my Bo Derek '10' impersonation on the shore). My self-esteem was about 99.7% in the toilet when I walked out at last. However, I think it tanked entirely when I went to the check-out counter.



$106.00. *retching*



As if I needed insult on top of my injury.



Could someone please tell me why on earth a swimsuit would cost that much money? Please? I don't even know what brand it is to warrant such a price tag. (likely no-name brand) But, in the end, after a few hours of self-torture and the realization that the Swedish Bikini Team will not require my presence this season, I finally sucked-up the cost and now have a swimsuit.



I may not look like Claudia Schiffer, but at least I'll be able to play with my kids at the pool (bonus: without indecent exposure!) and have a good time.



As I walked away from the department store, mentally shaking my head over the price I paid, I came to a very real conclusion: I could use this experience as an excuse to go home, boo-hoo into a pint of Häagen-Dazs or stoke the fires of motivation to continue to get into better shape and look better, for myself.



I chose the latter. Sometimes the glass is half-empty; today the glass was half-full.







*if you happen to be a midget, no offense is meant.