“I will divorce you if you get a one-piece swimsuit.”
— Scott’s final last words before we pulled into the mall parking lot.
I needed a new swimsuit. Scott needed some new ones too. We dumped the kids with my parents – well, wait a second here, first we went to the gym to get a final workout in then we dumped the kids.
I started to pull bikinis off the racks. I made my way to the one-pieces and tankinis. They’re so cute. So supportive. So covered up. I’m a mom! And I’m 31! Who cares what Scott thinks. Tankinis are the rage with moms. Unless I am swimming, I am always wearing a coverup. I’ve never been comfortable in a bikini, even when I was Miss 18-year-old Perky Boobs.
Scott caught me browsing one-pieces. He rolled his eyes.
Scott: You know you look best in bikinis. But wear whatever you want.
Me: Do you really hate one-pieces that much? Is this really grounds for divorce?
Scott: Wear whatever you want. Not going to say anything.
Me: I’ll just try one on. Just to see.
Scott: Actually, this one is kinda cute.
Me: Ok! I’ll try that! (It’s a black strappy one-piece. It shows skin on the sides.)
A store employee walked up to us.
Ok. I’m just going to say from experience, this swimsuit looks best on super skinny, stick-thin, girls.
My head whipped around.
Me: Oh. What?
Employee: But you should be ok. It’s just low cut in the butt. And it’s tighter on the hips. I haven’t really seen anyone pull this swimsuit off yet. I’m just warning you.
I’m going to rock this thing. I’ve never worked out so hard at the gym in my life.
I ripped off my clothes in the changing room and pulled on the black one-piece.
Never swimsuit shopping again.
The swimsuit talked to me. — “you may work out at the gym, but here’s that big sandwich you had for lunch. And here’s that glass of wine you drank while watching the K-State game last night and oh yes – real sneaky, Julie – I know you pigged out on that oreo pie when you brought your empty wine glass downstairs to the kitchen. Leave me to the photoshopped models in the catalog.”
Scott: Let me see it, Bug. I know which one you tried on first.
I opened the door. I laughed. I wanted to cry. I pulled Scott inside the changing room before the sales lady could see that I could not pull this off.
The thing was squeezing my hips down to the bone. Circulation was cut off. Muffin top spilled over the exposed sides. Who needs a lifejacket in the Keys when I have built-in cushions on the side holding me up?
Scott: Ugh! It makes your butt look super flat. Turn around. No. This does not look good on you.
Me: Geez, it’s made for a skeleton! Get me the next size up. I don’t care about the size. I’m going to make this look good.
Scott brought me the next size up. There was no difference on the bottom. My thighs were on the verge of turning bright red from the black one-piece tourniquet. It was the most unflattering swimsuit I have ever put on in my life.
I cracked open the changing room door and threw the thing at Scott’s chest. Dramatic? Yes. But it’s to be expected when swimsuit shopping with a woman.
Scott didn’t utter a single word when I ended up purchasing two bikinis and a coverup. His eyes smiled at my purchases. He knew if he said one “I told you so,” he would have to hold me back from trying on every one-piece in the store.
And that is how a one-piece swimsuit kept our marriage together. We’re held together by a bikini string, just how Scott likes it.