Summer is finally here, and this is the first time I’ve been ready for it since I was twelve and didn’t have butt acne.
What, exactly, does “ready” mean?
It means I bought a MF one-piece swimsuit from TJ Maxx. It’s sexy yet covers, it’s womanly, it’s in style, and it has officially cured all the summer woes of my adult life.
Let’s dive into the benefits.
I can swim. That’s right. No more do I spend twenty minutes adjusting a bikini top that is too big for my boobs, too small for my back fat, and too fragilely held together by a single-knotted bow in the back.
Gone are the days of my bikini top peeling away from me underwater like a cheetah-printed banana skin. No longer do my bikini bottoms magically untie themselves. When I swim, my one-piece stays pressed firmly to my flesh.
I am a mermaid, and my mom’s neighborhood pool is my oyster.
Speaking of clams, I’ve cut my shaving time in half. Yes sister, in half. Sure, if I’m feeling inspired, I’ll shave my armpits and legs – sometimes up to my thigh. But that’s it.
With my newfound polyester body armor of modesty and pragmatism, I am no longer performing my twice-weekly contortionist shaving routine in the shower.
The razor relief doesn’t end there, though. After all, the true advantage of the one-piece is the taut fabric that lovingly embraces my belly. Let’s just say my happy trail has never been happier.
With 200% more fabric and 500% more hair, I can now enjoy a romantic moonlit boat ride without fear of catching a chill.
This bump in internal body temperature helps kick my metabolism into high gear, which is perfect for digesting all of the barbecue I’m devouring this summer.
I used to time my meals well in advance of casual pool days and lake adventures. The 4th of July was always a particularly difficult day for me. While my brothers would host an impromptu hot dog-eating contest that was backlit by fireworks, I would look on with a soggy carrot stick in one hand. The other hand would be despondently waving a sputtering sparkler that never failed to spark my ever-held stomach.
No more.
No more will I deprive my sun-kissed temple of the bratwursts, hamburgers, and ice cream cones it craves. Nay, deserves.
The days of extreme juicing and injury-inducing workouts in the weeks preceding Memorial Day weekend are a thing of the past.
The water is my gymnasium now, and my one-piece swimsuit is my Olympic leotard. I leap, flip, twirl, and flop to fitness every damn day. This fish can impress on the ground too.
In the strappy floss I used to wear, I hardly dared a pencil dive entrance. More often than not, I would lie on the side of the pool, and my mother would gently roll me in while I held my disintegrating bikini to my body.
Powerless. Pathetic.
As of last week, I now hold the neighborhood record for “Biggest Cannonball Splash.” Jeremy judges the weekly contest, and we all trust his ruling since he’s the team captain of his middle school’s swim team.
The trick is a running start.
There is truly no downside to owning a one-piece. In fact, owning is an understatement. I’ve recently decided to reside full time in my one-piece skin. I don’t even take it off in the shower because it’s moisture-wicking, and I’m honestly not sure if I physically can anymore.
