An Ode to Bathing Suits

Roses are red.

Hearts are pink.

I love cupcakes.

Bathing suits STINK.

This obviously isn't an "ode." That sounds entirely too endearing. I'm anything but endeared to bathing suits. First, the name itself is completely misleading. What I wouldn't give to wear a jacket and long pants. Instead, we're stuck with tiny scraps of spandex. I mean, seriously? Who are these designers kidding?

I have to squeeze myself into a bathing suit in a little less than three months. And wear it. In front of people. Other than my husband or ELC. I've been married for almost a year now. Not only have I gained a wonderful husband, but I've also gained a few new friends in the way of EXTRA POUNDAGE (or “fluff,” as I like to call it). Apparently I think I can eat as much as he does. That's obviously his trick to staying so trim. In my dreams. I've learned that "newlywed" is synonymous with "newchunkythighs." I prefer to think of it as happy fat, though, based on the fact that we're still in that honeymoon phase and basking in those wedded bliss feelings (yep... that's my logic). It's awesome. Just not for my bottom half. UGH.

I started running last Tuesday (and by “running” I mean shuffling along at a snail’s pace and frequently hunching over while clutching my side as I gasp for air). I've run a total of three days (Tuesday, Wednesday and tonight – we had a cold front come in last Thursday and I’m no martyr). While I'm proud of my initial dedication (if you knew anything about my exercise habits, you'd know this is may-jor dedication), I currently can't bend down to get the Blue Bell out of our freezer (we have one of those fridges with the freezer on the bottom) without wincing in pain. It's horrible. Awful. Tragic. And this is all in the name of attempting to look good in those evil scraps of spandex on the beach. But, alas! Here I go!

(I just wish those neighborhood kiddos wouldn’t zoom by me on their fancy electric scooters. I might just have to accidentally knock one off, hop on the dang thing, and take my chunky thighs home the easy way.)

OR... I could just invest in a few fabulous cover-ups. What do you think?