Like many women, I am not completely comfortable wearing a swimsuit…or even trying one on. It wasn’t always that way. Some summers I practically lived in one, loving to run through sprinklers and splash in wading pools all day long. Until I was about ten years old. I was still a wee wisp of a thing, but puberty was working its changes…making me feel awkward, uncomfortable and exposed. Though I hovered right around 100 pounds for years afterwards, soaking wet, I often felt like Bloaty the Pizza Hog. For a while I wore only the plainest black swimsuits (if ever I dared remove my camouflage of baggy clothing) hoping that I wouldn’t draw much attention to myself. But I probably did just that, with my glow-in-the-dark alabaster skin. I can remember feeling at ease in my skin for just a few years of my adult life, mostly after regular visits to the dojo. Or during that brief period when I was pregnant with the little man…after I’d popped out and was glowing, but before I became behemothic. I do tune out the media’s stereotyping of beauty and body image as much as possible, including the current crop of female Olympian asses I could never hope to compete with. So finally, after adjusting to my post-motherhood snickerdoodle-loving physique, I’ve nurtured the fuckitwhocares attitude necessary to wear this snazzy parakeet green swimsuit in public. But this breakthrough has coincided with our first frost advisory* of the pre-autumn season. I just can’t win.
* True, this advisory applies to Northern Minnesota, but it’s hardly warm enough here to hit the free outdoor wading pools any time soon. At least it’s good sleeping weather.
