tis the season

Tis the season

Right about now I’m not even thinking about the fact that summer is coming and in some areas, people have already donned swim suits and flocked in lemming-like crowds to beaches across the US.  Well, I am a little bit.  It easy not to really think that summer is almost here like gray hairs harkening the imminent arrival of my twenty-five birthday because Seattle doesn’t believe in summer.  Or sun.  Or temperatures that exceed 60 degrees.  Blame our close proximity to the ocean or being flanked on either side by mountain ranges or blame God.  I blame Jim Castillo, our weather man.

In the spirit of not thinking about things, I’m not even considering getting a new bathing suit this year, as has been the tradition since I was introduce to water in utero.  I’m a water lady, I love to swim and frolic and all the other wonderful things you can do in glorious water, be it salty or chlorinated or not. 

Ok, dirty lies, you got me.  I have been thinking about it.  Thinking about it enough to go out and join an online group that is voluntarily being tortured by Jillian Michael’s (ala The Biggest Loser) book, Making the Cut in an effort to cut some inches and become the rock hard physique I know I have hiding somewhere under this layer of hip bones and rib cage.  And fat.  And I’ve been diligently following the extremely intense and pain-inducing exercise regime that would make any burgeoning third-world dictator proud. 

Still.  I wonder.  Am I getting to old for this sprint-to-bikini-body-worthiness that I (and almost all the other women) do every year?  Will I ever do a bikini justice?  I mean, I’m not disgracing it now, I’m not rolling down the window, flipping it the bird while chugging a Pabst during a high speed police chase.  No I’m not pissing on bikini’s name.  But, I don’t do it the justice that, say, Jessica Biel or Gisele does it.  I blame that on being 5’2.  But, should I throw my bikini dreams into the ‘ol toilet, along with my astronaut aspirations and wishes on stars?  Is it worth it?  Some ladies can just wake up, slap on some string and fabric, wander to the beach and be alright.  I’ve got to hit the gym 5 to 7 days a week, swear of carbs/fat/beans/sugar/alcohol/red meat, subsist on broccoli and spring water, sit in a sauna for 8 hours, suck in my gut THEN strap into a two piece.  With a sarong.  And maybe a giant hat and sunglasses to cover my face, lest I be recognized.

I’m caught in the seasonal mad dash.  But I want to attain a balance between looking damn good and eating cake on a regular basis, or ice cream cones, I’m not picky.  And my balance may actually come in the form of stretchy, made-for-water material, strategically sewn and placed on my body.  That happens to be classy.  And retro.  And very forgiving in the event that I decide I will lounge scantily clad at the beach AND eat cake.  With wine.  And ice cream.  And life would be good.

How amazing would I look in this beauty?  TOO amazing, that's how much.  This suit needs to be accompanied by a fine man and a classy drink, like a manhattan.  Wearing this, I may even be forgiven for eating.