The pursuit of the suit is not going well.
You know, you stick to your diet a few days, get a little bit of confidence up, decide you've only got 11 days till Cabo so you might as well use the time that's on your side and you go to the mall.
You get into the store, and you've chosen the high-end mall, with the upscale department stores, because surely, they've got a better selection, and staff that will tell you what suit would be best 'suited' for your figure.
I kinda get the hives when I walk into those stores, the ones where all the staff is wearing black, there is an espresso bar, a cafe, a full-time-benefits-included piano player, made-up women flashing their crystal bottles of perfume, which I dodge because I get a headache just from the thought of the flowery smells of perfume.
Everybody shopping is done up. I mean, totally done up to go shopping. It's like they plan their whole day around which department stores to target (Oh, don't say TARGET around THEM!). Like women with their hair totally done up, with tights on and boots, and designer handbags out shopping for more designer handbags. WTF?
If there's ever a place I feel totally OUT of place, it's these types of stores. I just want in. I just want out. I just want a bathingsuit that doesn't scream: LOOK AT THIS THIRTY-SEVEN-AND-A-HALF-YEAR-OLD BODY WHICH HAS BIRTHED THREE CHILDREN, ONE VIA C-SECTION WITH A LOVELY SCAR, AND YOU TELL HER WHAT TO TRY ON!
And the lights. And the space. They do not make it pleasant to shop for clothing. Plus, you know there's some employee in a back room pointing to the video monitor and calling the others over, saying, "Hey, we got a live one here! Check out those granny panties on her! Hey - She should NOT even bother trying on THAT SUIT!"
I grab some suits, nothing that really looks like it will be doing miracles for me, not even the MIRACLE SUITS I grab. Armed with about 15 for the first round, I head toward the dressing room, taking in yoga breaths, in and out from the nose. I am calm. I am OK. I can do this.
Thankfully, the dressing room is dimly lit; I think that is a kind thing for the store to do. BTW, don't you hate it when you get that hair static cling thing going when you take off your shirt and you have to then spit into your hand a little to tame down your hair. Happens to me all of the time.
I strip down to the grannies with my eyes closed, and the whole while I'm thinking, "I love my body. It's not so bad. Look what my body has done... I have three beautiful children, it hasn't been for wont. It has been used, but used to do good, to make children who are kind and loving, and they don't care that I've got chubby hips or thighs that are just too close to one another. The back-fat doesn't bother them. Nor my husband. Nobody cares but me. I love my body. I love it, I love it, I love it!"
I HATE MY BODY.
And here I was, totally prepared to pay top dollar for once in my life, ready to shell out $100 or even $200 if I could find a suit that would accentuate my accentables and camoflague my imperfections.
Did I find one?
Go ahead, you can answer this one...
How many stores did I hit? Let's see... Macy's, Lord and Taylor, Neiman Marcus, Nordstrom, Sears. Top of the line, right? And nothing.
Tomorrow, I will tackle Carson's, JCPenney's and Von Mour.
Points for today:
Did the strength training class this a.m.
Latte, tall, non-fat sugar free vanilla - 2 points
WW lemon snack cake and some 100-calorie cookies - 3 points
FF hot dog with bun - 2 points
One bite of the kid's leftover Nutty Butter bar - 1 point
Since I'm blogging this early because I'm going to my RWA meeting tonight, I'll just tell you what I'll be eating later...
Bruschetta and pasta, and I'll make the amount come to two cups of pasta for 6 points, and probably three pieces of the bruschetta for 6 points so that should bring me up to 20 points, so I have five-points to fudge with.
Did somebody say FUDGE?
No wonder the damn suits don't fit!