I never mean for it to happen. But I was seduced, seduced I tell ya! Summer, that sneaky vixen came in a rush and all my good intentions flew away to hover somewhere above the heat dome.
Each year around March, I give myself a stern lecture about how the time has come to put away childish things (AKA-string bikinis) and how this year, I **should** buy a sturdy, motherly swimsuit. I shop around, L.L. Bean, JCrew, WalMart just to see what’s out in the responsible swimsuit department but what can I say, I’m not interested.
All it takes is sunny skies, a few days of temps in the ‘80s, and a jamming ‘90s mix on Rhapsody; and I tell myself while hurriedly pulling on my trusty two-piece, dashing to a friend’s house to swim, “Ah, you don’t look that bad.” Then, I let it all hang out.
Literally, in some kind of delicious summer denial that grips me in its madness and holds me ‘til early September where I sit in a Panera Bread wearing a pair of micro cut-offs, counting spider veins on my legs, wondering how on earth I ever wore them out in public. And then, the next year, it all begins again. Laters.
