When I tried on my bikini for this summer, I knew it the moment I forced the bra clips together∙ I had to buy a new one. This bra was off – flesh was escaping from all sides, there was a tear that kept producing some white stuffing material as if it had a never-ending supply of it, and there was boob spillage everywhere.
So, I made the tough decision.* I went to the one shop that I know that has bikini bras my size that can both support me and not embarrass me with their grandma/drunk aunt design.
The tiny place was packed with women of all ages but of one large bra size, looking for hope. There was an old lady looking at a tankini printed with golden chains, there was a girl my age on the verge of tears, two women holding a fussy toddler, a pregnant woman looking crestfallen** and two employees who were doing the best they could.
After picking up a few bikinis, I joined the long line for the 2 dressing rooms and after I got in, I sighed. Next to me, the two women with the fussy toddler had both gotten in and were either
- Both trying on swimming suits while passing the baby from one to the other
- One was trying on while the other was holding the toddler, who by the way was angry***
So, I focused on me and as I was trying them on, I realized that I had an ingrown hair on my belly.
Time stopped. I think I dropped whatever I was holding and I watched in awe. It was ready, done, ripe and full of promise. I started touching it, like a lover, feeling its roundness and savoring the moment. I almost wrote a haiku for it, before I brutally attacked it.
A hair, in a zit
what a moment
And then I popped it. It was glorious. I shivered with delight. It popped so hard that stuff got stuck in the mirror, glistening underneath the cruel, cold lightning.
But lo! It had more! It was the zit that kept on giving.
I picked the ingrown hair and looked at it in the light. What a trophy! It was there, sprayed in all its glory. God, I was happy.
And then I cleaned the mirror and proceed in trying on bathing suits.
I got a nice aquamarine one.
See you in 3 years.
*As a plus sized woman buying a swimsuit is a once every 3 years affair. Only when I don’t have any other options do I dare to exit my comfort zone and enter the buying a new bikini zone.
**Bet she would’ve never walked in here if her bra size hadn’t gone up a bazillion sizes.
***Probably because he was shoved in a changing room with two other people in it.