Real Women Don’t Wear Tankinis

This year, I worked hard to drop a few pounds over the winter so that when spring arrived, I wouldn’t have to face my annual swimwear terror attack.

Honestly, I find shark-infested waters less scary than trying on bathing suits.  Bungee jumping?  Piece of cake.  Wrestling alligators?  Not a problem.  Standing half-naked in front of a three-way mirror when I know the security people watching those hidden video cameras are snickering at my cellulite?  Big problem.

Anyway, with my clothes fitting a little less snugly, I was optimistic that this year I could go bathing suit shopping without hurling my half-filled Starbucks Frappucino at the three-way mirror.

Confident that I was tankini-ready, I went to the store and tried on bathing suits two sizes smaller than last year. I was shocked to discover that I still hated how I looked.   After trying on several dozen bathing suits, I went back out into the store and stood glaring at the racks.  After a while, a teeny-tiny salesgirl approached me.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“Well, uh, I’m looking for a bathing suit,” I stated the obvious.

“How about this one?” she asked as she pulled out something even my grandmother wouldn’t have been caught dead wearing at the pool in her retirement community.  Honestly, the bathing suit had more material than a beach blanket.

“It’s a little old for me, don’t you think?” I asked.

“Well, once we’re past a certain age, those tiny bikinis just don’t flatter us, don’t you think,” she said.

Personally, I didn’t think I was past that certain age quite yet.  Maybe the fact that I had some smile lines meant to her that I was ready for a bathing suit with an attached skirt and its own breasts, but I begged to differ.

“I was actually looking for a tankini,” I told her.

“Hmmm. You know tankinis are not for everyone.  They can actually make your hips look BIGGER,” she said a little too loudly so that everyone in the swimwear department now realized that my hips would look bigger in a tankini.

“I’m actually pretty sold on a tankini,” I said through gritted teeth.

“Okay,” she said cheerfully.  “But you might have better luck over there.”  She pointed to the section of suck-me-in Miracle Suits, which promise to make you look ten pounds thinner instantly.

I gave her the look of death.

“Oh, and here’s a cover up that should help hide those trouble spots.  It’s nice and long so you can tie it up all the way around your neck and let it drape down like a dress,” she said modeling the makeshift muumuu on her size-two body for me.

I decided then and there that if I wanted to feel badly about my body, I could do it all by myself, thank you very much.  Ignoring her, I reached over to the rack of cover ups, and pulled out a cute little sarong instead.

She looked at it and shook her head. “That’s pretty small,” she said. “I’m not sure what you could do with that.”

I smiled. “I could strangle you with it.”

 

©2016, Beckerman. All rights reserved.

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Steve Carell and the Case of the Giant Chicken

chicken-647226Our New York City vacation did not necessarily include a shoe shopping expedition.  But when I saw the sparkly, black leather platform booties in the widow, I knew they had to be mine.

Although I am usually fairly immune to these SOSUs (Sudden Onset Shoe Urges), I felt my resolve dissolve when the shoe salesman told me the manufacturer only made 10 pair of the shoes in different sizes to see if they would be successful, and mine were the only size 9, I snatched them up like a mom grabbing the last Kit Kat in her kid’s Halloween bucket and ran out the door in my new shoes.

That night, I dreamt we went to the tax accountant’s office to deal with some tax issues and suddenly a huge commotion broke out. Apparently a giant chicken was attacking the city and the tax accountant’s office was actually a front for a special forces team called The Poultry Patrol that was organized to fight giant chickens. The chicken was frightening, about the size of Godzilla, with mean red eyes and an enormous threatening beak. When it clucked, the ground shook.

I tried to sneak out, because really, what did I know about fighting giant chickens.
Cooking them? Yes. Fighting? Not so much.

However, I was stopped and told I had to join the special forces team since I was there and I had on the special shoes I had bought that day.  I failed to see the connection between my shoes and being picked to fight a giant chicken, but I went with it. Still, everyone had training and I did not so they paired me with Steve Carrell as my partner and he led me to a secret bunker where all the special forces teams were preparing to fight the giant chicken.  steve_carell_2_2013They were all geared up in flight suits and I suddenly noticed they were wearing the same sparkly leather platform booties that I had bought earlier in the day. I didn’t realize then that the shoes had jets on the soles which made the wearer able to fly.  Steve Carrell instructed me to turn on my jets and lift off, but I couldn’t fly high enough to battle the chicken because I’m afraid of heights.

So instead of fighting the giant chicken, they assigned me another vital task. I had to fly into all the public bathrooms and rescue any extra rolls of toilet paper before they would be destroyed by the giant chicken.  As the only person in our house who seems to know where the extra toilet paper is kept, this seemed like the ideal job for me. After the chicken destroyed much of the city, it was finally defeated by the special forces team and we all returned back to the tax accountant’s office where Viola Davis, the chief of the task force, thanked everyone for saving the city, but especially me for rescuing the toilet paper.
toilet-roll-220415Steve Carrell was of course annoyed that he didn’t get the recognition he thought he deserved and said it was like “Bruce Almighty” all over again. He then banished me from the tax accountant’s office and told me next time I should go to H&R block where they only do taxes, not save the world from giant angry chickens or a worldwide shortage of toilet paper.

I woke up suddenly and looked outside. There was no evidence of any prior giant chicken rampage.  Then I checked the bathroom and saw that we were well stocked in toilet paper.

Gratefully, I realized it was all a dream,

…except for the shoes, which are awesome, even though they don’t fly.

 

©2016, Beckerman. All rights reserved.

bookbutton-04“Lost in Suburbia: A Momoir. How I Got Pregnant. Lost Myself, and Got My Cool Back in the New Jersey Suburbs” makes a great gift!! To get a copy for you or a cool mom you love, CLICK HERE

To become a fan of Lost in Suburbia on Facebook, Visit me here
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