Someone should open a decent bathing suit shop. Because you know you go in there with your suits and you’re all vulnerable, and what do they do? They blast you with fluorescent lights that make you pasty and show every stretch mark. They make you scrutinize yourself in fat-mirrors which, if you’re super lucky, come in pairs or even threes so you get the 360-degree view. It’s cold, so you’re all goose bumpy…and then they expect you to shell out $50+ for the thing squeezing all your fat into fine display?
This is how *I* want to shop for bathing suits:
I walk into a pretty, dimly lit boutique with sexy Latin music playing. Someone hands me a glass of champagne (or even better, a margarita) and some chocolate-covered strawberries so as to lubricate the decision-making process. Attendants size me up and run around, bringing me the suits that suit me best. Then as I try each one on in the skinny-mirrored, flattering-lighted dressing room, I parade in front of the attendants who all tell me how hot I look. Then they only charge me $20 for the whole thing. Yup, that’s my kind of bathing-suit shopping.