I went bathing suit shopping yesterday.
And I still haven’t recovered.
So here’s a poem to some up how I feel about it.
Also please note that yes I know I can not write poetry.
****
Your stomach is smaller than yesterday.
Namaste,
spin class.
You should still suck it in though,
Just a little bit. Not too much
You don’t want to look weird. Like your ribs are
going to fly away.
Nope that’s weird. This is not supposed to look like that
Do my thighs have really have this many dimples or is it
just this light?
I miss not caring what I looked like in a bikini.
Remember when it was all about stuffing the top with an extra bikini pad and
that episode of As Told By Ginger when Courtney puts
that packing stuff with the bubbles in her top?
Bubble Wrap!
Size WHAT?! Since when?
That is NOT a bottom.
Why can’t I be normal?
Like those girls
I see on social media.
This top will never fucking fit.
Oh. It kind of fits.
I hate swim suits
-Me
Just wait till you hit 46 and padded bras are your strap-on boobs, you’ve got dimples all over and couldn’t care less, and you vaguely notice that even teenagers seem to be hitting on you due to the non-intimidating confidence you’re nonchalantly oozing
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