Fat Bottomed Girls...We make the Rockin' World go Round...

It's nearly that time of year again.  From the slight lift in the temperature, to the empty shelves in the healthfood aisle at Kroger, to the quiet weeping coming from fitting rooms accross the city....the signs are everywhere.  Bathing suit season is upon us.  Despite it's return every year at this time, I still find myself anxiously checking and re-checking my calendar to make sure I am not mistaken...Wasn't Christmas only a few days ago? I ask myself.  I should still have a good 2 months of cookie-eating and bulky sweaters before I should have to concern myself with the unmistakable horror that comes in spring along with the blooming of the dogwoods.

Some of you reading this may have no idea what horror I speak of....you're what I like to call a "Skinny Bitch".  Frankly, I'm not sure how you managed to stumble across my blog either, as I would never associate myself with someone so purely evil as the "Skinny Bitch".  As for the rest of you, you know exactly what I'm talking about.  Every year we vow to be ready for the insurmountable task....the ungettable get....the agony of finding a suit that somehow manages to not only have enough material to cover our lady parts, but also miraculously will make us look 10 lbs thinner. 

This year has been no different.  I, like many, start slowly...things this scary must be eased into like dipping your big toe in the water to test out the temperature.  I started with shorts.  Starting with shorts is necessary to somehow ease yourself into seeing your stark white legs in full view.  All winter we can get away with the mad dash out of the shower to avoid the mirrors and convincing yourself that the reflection wasn't you, but merely a ghost inhabiting your bathroom.  But shorts put you face to face with the moonlit glow wafting from your skin.  I suggest starting with neutral and muted colors....khaki, grey, etc.  I made the mistake of trying a pair of cute J.Crew shorts on in a bright light blue....never again.  Somehow the blue color not only cast a glow out of my dressing room like a scene from E.T., but it also managed to pick out all the colors of my veins like blue crayon on white paper.  Lesson learned. 

After I finished the easing in process of buying shorts, I thought I might be ready.  So one Saturday morning I woke up, pre-breakfast, and headed to Target.  I browsed the swimsuit area for about 15 minutes, finally picking out 2 suits that, on the hanger, seemed like they would adequately cover all my wobbly bits and headed to the dressing room.  After I closed the dressing room door, I took a deep breath and relished in what would come to be known as "the before", as in all the time up the moment you try on your first swim suit of the season.  "The before" is a time filled with hope and reassurance...and of course, prayer. 

As I slid the first of the two suits on, I mentally told myself it would be alright.  I've been working hard, I'm in good shape, I say to myself.  There's no reason this should be scary....right?  I look up at myself in the mirror and take stock.  It's a strapless bikini with a cute print...no string bottoms, of course...I'm no fool.  It's at this point that I start to think, hey I don't look so bad!  There's no muffin top, or excessive boob fat hanging out anywhere...from the front, I can almost congratulate myself!  But the test is yet to come.  I slowly.......verrrrry slowly.....make that 180 degree turn that can (and will) change everything.  This is the time I refer to as "the after".  "The after" is filled with cumpulsive dieting, nighmares of cottage cheese, and random emotional outbursts (REO). 

So here I am in the Target dressing room staring at my backside in a bathing suit for the first time since August.  What happens next is a series of events that remains unchanged from year-to-year.  It's practically choreographed.  First, I immediately grab the tag and check the size.  I feel sure that I have inadvertantly grabbed and extra small or was somehow shopping in the toddler section.  No dice.  The size is right.  Next I turn from side to side, because, it's clearly the angle at which I'm viewing myself that's making my ass look like it's grown 3 sizes in 10 minutes.  Again, no suck luck.  I immediately rip the bathing suit off my body, convinced now that this strange elephant-backside phenomenon is merely a result of a defect in the suit.  The second suit, inexplicably has the same defect.  Stange how it has managed to carry over from not only different styles, but different designers as well.  After putting the second suit back on the hanger, I redress myself and sit in the fitting room contemplating my next move...do I try on more suits or sucumb to the REO I feel bubbling up in my psyche?

I pull my hat down as far as possible as I exit the dressing room (it is quite important to wear a hat to the store when trying on suits to properly hide the look of shame on your face when you leave) and deposit my mis-sewn suits to the fitting room attendant and try to make a clean exit.  But of course as I am walking away, I hear "Those didn't work out for you today?" from the attendant.  She's a "Skinny Bitch" too.  She wouldn't understand.  "No they didn't..." I reply, contemplating adding a "...you waify tramp!" to the end of my response.   But I keep it classy. 

Driving home I wonder if I should just give up and get a McFlurry at the McDonalds drive through, or stop at Kroger for a roll of cookie dough to eat with a spoon.  After all, my ass has already reached epic proportions...what's a few more calories??  I deny the urge, however.  I begin to conteplate a number of things, trying to convince myself that my ba-donk-a-donk is completely normal.  Sure, the African-American male community has started it's own local fan group for it, and there may be a good 2 inch gap between the waist-band of all my pants and my lower back so as to accomodate the girth of my rear, but that's normal, right?  I mean, everyone knocks things over when they turn around in small rooms, and gets asked regularly where they can find Apple-Bottom jeans, right?  And what's that timeless expression?  I think it goes...'guys don't make passes at girls with flat asses'?  That's like, a line from the old testament, right?  So really I have nothing to worry about.  I've now convinced myself that neither mine, nor any "normal" girls ass was meant to fit in a bikini bottom and can breathe a sigh of relief as I pull in the driveway. 

Nevertheless, I decide to avoid another round of humiliation by ordering an excessive number of suits online that night.  I play the odds that at least one of them will accomodate my "normal" physique and silently vow to cut out all carbs for seven to ten days (the amount of time for a standard shipping from Victoria's Secret).  I promise myself that next year will be different...I WILL be prepared for bathing suit season next year!  I also promise myself to smack my boyfriend upside the head for drooling over the bathing suit models at victoriassecret.com after he "insisted" on seeing which suits I was thinking of getting.  Poor asshole...I can't wait to see the look on his face that precedes the comment, "Hmmm....it looked different online."

In closing, I would like to leave you with the following...no one said it better than the late, great Freddie Mercury....