I’m encased in spandex and nylon. The same bought it on clearance and I’m sick of it now spandex and nylon I’ve encased myself in for the last five years or so. It’s hot for March 1st, but only because I accidentally left the thermostat turned way up. At the moment, I definitely feel underdressed, but soon this attire will be de rigueur if I don’t wish to become waterlogged in street clothes and sink like a stone.
When I finally summon the nerve to face my reflection in the full length mirror, and assess the damage that the past few chocolate laden holidays have inflicted, once again, as in previous winters, I’m pleasantly surprised. I don’t look half bad!
Still, my inner interrogator is forced to begin a series of familiar questions:
Did the mirror come from a fun house?
Do I need stronger glasses?
Does my svelte appearance owe itself to the eye-fooling pattern on my suit-a lively red, black and gold figural design reminiscent of the interior of a stereotypical Chinese restaurant? (And after one look at my suit will everyone suddenly vacate the beach in an attempt to satisfy their cravings for sweet and sour chicken or a side of egg rolls, so what I look like won’t matter anyway?)
Let’s just suppose for a minute. If I were to persuade myself to purchase a new swimsuit this year, could I get away with a solid color, say sultry black or elegant navy blue? In a smaller size? Or perhaps even a two-piece?
Unfortunately, as I’ve pointed the glaring spotlight so unforgivingly on myself, I’m adrift in a sea of self-doubt.
Hopefully, if I take out a small loan and order swimsuits in every conceivable style, color, pattern and size, I’ll find the answer. In any case, it must be about time for lunch. Fried rice sounds good.
No prompt for inspiration today. This was just a free write I did for fun.
Picture courtesy of Glamour Splash