Look, I realize that bathing suit shopping is torture for
almost everyone. But when you have triple D's and an ass you can rest drinks
on, it becomes a bit more problematic. Personally, I'd like to go back to
old-timey bathing costumes. Who doesn't look good in dark blue serge? Add in a
cute little ruffled hat and I'd be all set. Sadly, they don't make them
anymore. Trust me, I've checked.
What they do make for ladies who lunched on sugar and carbs
are bathing suits of such a hideous nature that they could only have been
designed by the blind. When you are roughly the size and shape of a couch,
surely you don't need to wear clothing that looks like upholstery? I live in
Jersey, the land of leopard print, but does it have to be on everything? There
is also a ratio of cup size to sparkles that I have yet to understand. So far,
it seems like the bigger the boob, the bigger the bling. This means that if I
were to buy a bedazzled suit, I'd probably cause temporary blindness if looked
at in direct sunlight.
I found all this out during my recent foray bathing suit
shopping. While many people recommended Land's End (and their generous free
shipping policy), they only makes "soft cup" suits. I need underwire
and rigging and possibly even miniature cranes. Land's End is out. Instead, I
hit the mall. I wandered through store after store fingering triangles of fabric
that would barely cover my areola. I found bottoms that were so small, they
should have been sold as dental floss. Finally, broken and dispirited, I
wandered into the plus-sized clothing store. Why had I avoided it for so long
when I am obviously their target demographic? Two reasons: they have pretend
sizing and they appear to charge by the (cheap) yard. If I am going to pay a
thigh and wing for an outfit, I at least want to recognize the material. But,
when it came to bathing suits, this store was actually fairly restrained. Not
only did some come in basic black, but they had built-in bras. While it may
have been a win, buying those awful things still felt like a loss. I came home
pissed off, depressed, and just plain mean.
This is when Jennifer Weiner stepped in and saved the day
and reminded me of one very simple phrase I tell my daughter all the time,
which is, "It is better to be smart than pretty."
That night, while I was sitting on the couch brooding,
hating myself and my body, I decided to check Twitter. (I have an account
mostly so I can follow people.) There, my beloved Weiner was holding a contest
to see who could post a picture that included her books but referenced The Bachelorette. I quickly set up a tableau
wherein my entire collection of Weiner novels were surrounding a mini-guillotine/bagel
slicer where a copy of Jonathan Franzen's The
Corrections was placed, ready for death. I titled this piece, "What
happens after the rose ceremony." Within minutes, I had a direct message
from the author, telling me that she loved my joke and was sending me a free
galley copy of her yet-to-be published new novel.
This happy moment, when I won a free book from a great
author based entirely on my sense of humor (and knowledge of her cantankerous
history with Franzen) pulled me out of my black mood and taught me a very
valuable lesson. Over Twitter, she couldn't tell that I was fat. She could only
tell that I was funny. Judging by beauty alone, I may have become the person
you refer to as, "she has a great personality" or "she makes me
laugh" but really, is that such a bad thing? I have told my daughter that it
is better to be smart than pretty so many times she can recite it on cue. Well,
not to too my own intellectual horn (because based on my SAT scores, I'm not even
half as bright as my husband) I am at least smart enough to be funny.
I'll take that as a win.
* Joke lifted directly from my eldest sister-in-law.