Can I just say that trying on bathing suits for all but the most beautiful of our species must be one of the most humbling, hideous experiences out there? Standing in the change room with my sock marks on my calves, bright white skin contrasting with what must be new veins, and the thought, "Remember when I thought I was fat, when I was sixteen? What I would give to be that "fat" now," going through my mind, I got the nerve up to wrestle into three different styles of bathing suits.
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Here's a question. Do you still wear a two piece bathing suit? Notice I did not say bikini because the thought of skinny straps and triangles of lycra is just too much for me at this age. There is also the "tankini" where by you don respectable bottoms and a top that comes down to meet the bottoms, so two pieces, but in a covered up way. Tankinis are fine as long as the top actually does meet the bottom because the last thing you want is a rogue roll to pop up between top and bottom.
The trying on experience was a depressing one with me getting somewhat stuck with the inner underwire type bra-lette flipped up inside the top of the bathing suit, poking above the neckline and then having to reach up from underneath to flip it over and pry it down between fabric and my flesh. I had a similar moment with a yoga top in the past. The whole thing made me regret that Wendy's bacon deluxe I had just enjoyed an hour ago. As I peeled off pieces and snapped elasticised straps, I started to mentally promise myself I would start working out again, eat more salads, cut back on my wine (?).
In the end, under the interrogation lights of the change room, I decided on an excellently priced ONE PIECE, which would contain the relatively newly acquired lumps and sags of my fifty-year old body, but would do nothing to hide my thighs (not even going to go there).
I honestly wouldn't mind if this came back in style.
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