...and both of them tell me that I'm a long way from baring my body in public. UGH! ARGH!
I promised the Man-cub that we'd go to the local water park. It ain't much, but it has cool water that appears clean. Plus, he loves it and I love him. Prior to the water park jaunt he had a dental appointment. I was still without board shorts and figured I could make do with some swimsuit tankini top off the rack. No, they never fit my rack, but I'd suffer along with anyone who saw me.
I didn't want to blow a lot of cash and that means shopping at the big K. First, all the board shorts were stupid. Nothing remotely appealing. Why is it so hard to just buy something in basic black? I don't need over sized cargo pockets on board shorts. Who the hell would shove anything of that size in a pocket that is going to take a watery trip? It's not like a man packs his phone, iPod, keys, or wallet in swim shorts!
Anyway, the bottom line is that I have really shitty legs. It's a curse. They are shapeless ham hocks that are dimpled with cellulite and the piece de resistance: Varicose veins. There! I admitted it. I have publicly declared my legs unfit to be seen in public. They send small children running and crying for their mommies. Regardless of the amount of exercise and conditioning I have tried it is a futile attempt to have gams that aren't embarrassing. THAT is why I haven't worn a swimsuit in nearly 8 years. Because of that I haven't worn shorts. I am not even inclined to wear a skirt that isn't well below the knee. God help me.
Man-cub insists there is nothing wrong with me and he loves me 'as is'. It's his job to say that. It's horrific that I figuratively cried on the shoulder of my 13 year old son. He also reminded me that there are women who look far worse who proudly strut about the pool deck, jump in the water and enjoy the in spite of their physical appearance.
With that I decided to just go with the most plain pair of board shorts. I tossed them in the basket and went in search of a tankini that had wide straps. I figured I could wear my bra underneath it without the pool Gestapo yelling at me for not wearing proper swim attire. Seriously, they would thank me if they ever saw these ocean liner buoys bobbing about free from their restraints.
Nothing. Not one damn tankini top in my size with anything more than dental floss for support. Bullshit! Bullshit, ladies and gentlemen. Skinny straps on a top intended for a woman who carries about 40 pounds of breast tissue is not acceptable. Who in the effin' world designs this crap basket of swimwear? I know, men who have no concept of what it's like to be busty. Busty and over 40. Busty and over 40 and breast fed. My breast tissue has turned to what I like to refer to as goo. Fill a water balloon partially with liquid hand soap and leave no air. Tie it off and fondle it. That's my boob. It ain't pretty and it might make you want to spew, but that's the risk you take when you read my blog, I guess.
I hate that I've subjected myself to the ridiculous social stigma of being overweight. It's not bad enough that I have boobs that are abnormally ginormous. Oh no! I'm doubly cursed with really horrific legs. I look up to the Heavens and ask, "WHY!? Why can't I have physical attributes that meet the norm?" I see women who have big bellies, normal sized boobs and these outrageously awesome legs. What the f*ck?!
I HATE SWIMSUIT WEATHER! I'm angry that I can't get it in my head to just strut like I'm Lady Godiva. I'm pissed that the supermodel under the flab, cellulite and varicose veins isn't what people see -- what I see. Do you think Tony Robbins can hypnotise the world like he did to Shallow Hal? Because that'd be totally righteous.