Truths: The (Dreaded) Yellow Polka Dot Bikini

In 24 hours I will be on a plane to the Bahamas…my husband and I never went on a honeymoon (or any trip like this together – alone) and we will celebrate our whopping 5 year anniversary.

I say “whopping” because for many others around us they are celebrating 10, 15, 20 years… But, nonetheless we are happy to celebrate 5.

It is amazing what we have been through in just 5 years…we so deserve this vacation.

But, it can be Hell getting ready to leave, can’t it? Canceling the mail, cleaning the house (because God forbid you die in a plane crash and people come in and see that you left your house in shambles!), getting the pets ready for our wonderful petsitter, Ellen, buying all the essential hygiene items, the list goes on and on…

But the absolute worst thing in getting ready to head somewhere south to bask in the sun and drink fruity little umbrella drinks is…… buying a new bathing suit!

That is what I did yesterday and I am fairly certain it is the very task that comes right before suicide!

I have been working out for over 3 months for this vacation… THREE months. Walking/running miles, 400 sit-ups a night, practicing yoga…I have worked fricking hard.

But, when I tried on the first suit yesterday…well – I certainly wasn’t staring at some glowing body.

Now, I am not a large person – I am not a contestant for the Biggest Loser by any stretch of the imagination – but I do have that 10 -15 pounds glued to my body in all the wrong places. And, that is what glared back at me when I looked in the mirror.

We all know the truth about store mirrors and dressing room lighting – they suck. They should really go out of their way to make you look better – wouldn’t you buy more clothes..but instead – your cellulite is highlighted and your face looks washed out.

Okay, maybe it isn’t the lighting…

There was a time in my life when I would have broke down in the dressing room yesterday – when I would have cried like a baby seeing my body in a bathing suit and looking “that” way.

A time when I would have hung the suit back on the hanger and ran out of the room. Completely devastated.

I don’t know why I didn’t. Maybe I should have. Maybe I didn’t because I am 39 years old and even though I want, more than anything, to see that 20 something body I once had – or even the better early 30 year old body I had – I am not going to.

I don’t eat like a pig and I do work-out but that body I once had, well, it isn’t coming back anytime soon.

I already walk passed the cute little bikinis and am drawn immediately to the tankinis. I guess it is a rite of passage… 20 – 30 year olds buy the bikini’s – 35 + buy the tankinis and well, we all know what 50 + buys… The skirted one pieces – the suits that suck it in, push it up and hide it all.

I admit for one second I looked at one of those suits. Contemplating how it might be the one for me and then I shook my head and walked away. C’mon my body doesn’t need that…yet!

So, as any woman knows, you scavenge every possible suit you even remotely like – you grab a few different sizes (even though you don’t want to) and you walk into the dressing room – nervous as Hell…

I had at least 20 garments in that room. And the marathon began.

Removing everything I had on… and being winter here – that means a lot of clothes!

By the time I am taking the first suit of the hanger, I am already sweating.

The first suit goes on and I think a few things… One, while I might look better than I did a few months ago –is this really as far as I got… and then I contemplated the suit.

I think, “It could be worse – I kinda like it…”

This goes on for probably 45 minutes. Taking suits on – taking suits off. Grappling with putting them back on hangers – struggling to get them over my head and down my body. Fidgeting with tags and sensors (all put in the absolute worst places)

Half way through – my once moist skin is dry and flaking – my chest is red from the tags scraping it each time… My hair is flat and ugly and I look like a freight train hit me – head on.

And that is about the time I realize that to make this work I have to do the unthinkable… I must sacrifice myself and get half dressed to go back out and get a few different suits and a few more sizes.

Every woman knows what a pain in the ass this is.

Putting your clothes back on – wondering if you should take your purse or not… worrying if someone else will take over your dressing room.

It is the absolute dread of the marathon. But, for me, it had to happen or all of this was a waste.

I pulled on my jeans, left the tankini top on and wrapped myself in my sweater and scurried out to the suits. I felt like everyone was looking at me but really there was no one around.

I had to make this run twice…more sweat…more agony.

After fulfilling the nightmare – I ended up with 4 suits – or I should say 4 tops sharing two bottoms. I must admit that it is nice that they finally allow you to mix and match the bottoms.

Not only did I feel battered and beat-up – I did feel unhappy about my body. I like the suits – I just wished they read smaller sizes.

However, when I was a size 2 (and I was) I remember still feeling that way. Still looking in the mirror wishing this was smaller and that was tighter. Still feeling self-conscious.

So, what gives? (and, why do men get to wear big baggy trunks?)

I guess, part of me is mature enough to realize that no matter what I am staring at in the mirror– I have done what I can to get back in shape and I should be proud of that – because it has made a difference.

And regardless, of what size the tag on my suit reads – it is up to me to feel beautiful in it.

I suppose as I move so close to 40, I am beginning to accept who I am and that is why even though yesterday was a bit traumatizing – I just took a deep breath and made the best of it.

Besides in 24 hours – I am going to be sipping drinks with cute little umbrellas in them and not giving a damn about anything else!