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My swimsuit

For obvious reasons, I stay away from skinny jeans, midriff-baring tops, sleeveless/spaghetti-strap tops, tight clothing, and of course, swimwear. Even way back then when I wasn’t fat, I was still painfully shy of having to don a swimsuit. I’d never been bolder to put on less than a modest 1-piece. Oh, I had a nice little bikini stashed away in my wardrobe, but it must’ve been purchased in a heat of delirium or delusion, call it what you will- but when it came home, I never wore it, ever. Except to use as a gauge to see if I put on weight or not. You can always tell *snigger*

And for the record- I LOVE swimming and the sea and the sun and beach and sand, never mind that it gets in my eyes when I’m less than mindful. But I’ve allowed my fear and loathing for putting on a swimsuit to get in the way of my love for the water. As children, things were much simpler, who cared if you had a potbelly, or if you had a wedgie…These days, as adults, we constantly need to assess and observe that what we put on our bodies are within the acceptable confines of social boundaries, and for lack of a better expression, unoffending to the public eye. It is because of this that I do not, absolutely do not, wish to heap upon the poor souls out to have a good time at the swimming pool or beach, a frightful sight of cottage-cheese thighs and a pregnant-like belly. At times, when I see people bigger than I am in size, strut about in their swimsuits without a care in the world, I think, “I wish I could be that brave”. Some may call it delusion. Either way, I don’t have that kind of courage.

But with this weekend’s trip to Langkawi looming in the horizon (we leave tomorrow morning), and with Hubs shooting a wedding the whole of Saturday, I am left with the realization that if I am to entertain my daughter, I’d probably have to flounder into the water with her, pool or sea. There’s only so much TV I can let her watch, only so many sights to see around Langkawi. I don’t even want to think about the nightmare of driving a manual, rented, beat-up Iswara with her strapped into the passenger’s seat, driving around looking for food, or just to window-shop.

So yesterday, during lunch with BFF, CC and EC:-

Me: I’m going to do a dumb f*** and swim in shorts and a t-shirt lah. I don’t care.

(Gasps of horror reverberate around our lunch table)

BFF: You can’t be serious. No….

EC: Ugh. Hunny, that’s a fashion disaster.

(CC was quiet. He did chuckle lightly, though).

BFF: It’s gonna be so smelly, your clothes! It’s so awful. People will stare at you and think you’re from Mars!

EC: Just put on a damned swimsuit lah.

Me: I don’t even have one! Do you know any places which sell swimsuits this big? (indicating body size)

All: Hmmm…

BFF (after a short pause): Sorry nus (a term of endearment between us), but maybe you can try the maternity shops…I’m not saying you’re fat!

Me (glumly): Already tried. Don’t have lah. But seriously, guys….which do you think is worse? A fattie in a swimsuit, cellulite on thighs, big tummy, flabby arms, etc… OR a fattie covered up in a t-shirt and shorts?

EC: Swimming?

Me: Yes.

EC & BFF: Covered up worse lah!!!!

BFF: You’re not that fat, nus. You make yourself sound like the most awful person on earth. (She looks genuinely sad, how I love her for being so supportive of me!)

(CC is laughing quietly, his mouth chock-full of sweet & sour pork)

EC: I will not speak to you ever again if you wear a t-shirt and shorts for swimming. ANYTHING is better than that. Get one of those swimsuits with those little skirts, like a tutu.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So, in the evening, I popped over to the Clarins Institute in 1 Utama, to get my leg waxing done. They were beginning to look rather frightful. After that, I popped over to Parkson just to see. I looked longing at all the pretty 2-pieces, 1 piece, bikinis, etc…all the while imaging myself in them, and then seeing me pop like a bloody popiah in them. And then, at the Ogival section, I found this:-

It was either this, or another one in brown with horrendous white flowers on the bosom area. There was also another scuba-like type, short-sleeved, but it was in a fucking ugly navy colour, with turquoise stripes down the side. Although I could fit into it, I definitely looked like a blue popiah. So, my choice was made.

Later that night, sms-ing with EC:-

Me: I managed to find a swimsuit my size at Parkson! Not very nice lah, but serves the purpose. It has a skirt!

EC: There you go! LOL. Did you hear bout the petrol prices?

Me: Yup, it’s crazy everywhere. I’m not going to bother. You sure looking fat is better than looking dumb???

EC: Hunny, ANYTHING is better than looking dumb swimming in your t-shirt and shorts.

Me: OK, OK. I look pretty awful in it though. But at least it had my size. Not much choice for fatties lah.

EC: I suppose I shouldn’t even bother shopping for a Speedo for Bali then… :)

Me: Oh puh-leeze, you guys can get away with anything! Nobody judges you the way people judge women!

EC: There are limits to what a sea cow can get away with… :)

Me: Hahahahah! I’m trying it on again at home. Doesn’t look as bad as it did in the store. Not much choice for fatties lah. I hate my body!

EC: Join the club.

So yeah, there it is. I pray I’ll actually have the courage to put it on and go swimming with E this weekend, then. I tried it on for Hubs, who thought I looked sexy in it, but Hubs would think that no matter what I wore. E laughed and insisted on putting on HER swimsuit, so there were sat in our bedroom last night, cross-legged on the floor beside each other, E and I, both in our swimsuits, laughing and grinning.

I suppose it’s all gonna be worth it, just so that I could make E smile and laugh the way she did last night.

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