Torture Part 1 on Monday's post)
...When I finally decide on a little—I use this word loosely—number that is so busy with sunflowers and hummingbirds that I hope will distract eyes from the flesh bulging out of it, I rush to the checkout counter and pay cash, so the checker doesn’t have time to see what size it is.
In the car, I grab my wee scissors from the emergency sewing kit and snip out the label, and then swallow it with a large gulp of diet ice tea. No sense in having it flutter out of the trash bag and let the world in on my dark secret. I can handle the indigestion that results from label eating; I can’t face knowing there’s evidence of my swimsuit size somewhere on the planet.
Now I’m prepared for the next time a friend calls, inviting us over to swim. “Let’s go,” I holler to my honey, “we’ll be late for the party!” He comes down the hall wearing the same suit he’s had for twenty-five years, which took him thirty seconds to pick out, try on, and purchase. Makes me sicker than when I swallowed the label.
His eyebrows raise as he points to me. “Aren’t you going to wear your new bathing suit, honey? You spent all day and half a paycheck on it!”
I huff like I always do when he’s clueless about female logic. “I have it on, silly, under these old shorts and t-shirt, which won’t be ruined by the chlorine in the pool. No way can I let people see me in it! Now, let’s go…”
To help take away some of the sting of shopping for a swimsuit, I am guest posting on novelist Katie Ganshert's blog today, where I'll be giving away another copy of Two Scoops of Grace with Chuckles on Top! I hope you'll join me...