I hadn't planned on squeezing my hips into anything on this particular Tuesday afternoon. I had actually been wandering around Target, looking for a keyboard cover since I canNOT seem to make a concerted effort to cease all eating while I work, causing all sorts of cracker crumbs and God knows what else to clog up my already barely functioning machine. This, I believe, is the reason my A key is a bit sticky as of late. Anyway, since I recently took inventory of my entire wardrobe, I realized that the one bathing suit I own is old and doesn't do much for my new, more umm, mature figure. I also realized that the standard bikini cut is not all that flattering on me anymore. Give me a nice, sleek one piece, please. Perhaps a little sarong, too?
Well, the ole' one piece isn't being stocked at my local Brooklyn Target. In fact, there's little available outside the realm of itsy bitsy teeny weeniness. Hence, my surprise and subsequent happiness upon spotting these boy short type things amidst all of the strings and leopard print. I found a pair in black but my size was out. Then I discovered these cute electric blue bottoms, complete with a little ruffle (not quite a skirt per se). Perfect! I then grabbed a few basic halter bikini tops and tromped off to the fitting room. I wondered if today would be one of those lucky shopping days where along with the Biore Cleansing Pore Strips and floss, I'd also walk out with an item I've needed but have been terrified to identify on an actual list.
Well, the two hideously gigantic mirrors in the dressing room quickly informed me that it was very much not my lucky shopping day. At 30 something years of age, one typically knows which cuts look good on her and which do not. Either it has really been some time since I've done any serious shopping or my body has changed in ways I don't understand. The ruffly thing did nothing for me. In fact, I could only be reminded of the toddler girls I take care of. I looked absolutely ridiculous. And the tops? Well, they just reminded me of all those leathery skinned women at the county fair who don't think there is anything wrong with the fact that they running around in completely non-supportive tube tops.
I can accept that further shopping must be done and some toning probably needs to commence but I hate the fact that I wanted to jump away from that mirror as quickly as possible. I mean, am I still a self-conscious 13-year-old? I thought of that this morning as I was playing with 15-month-old, Izzie. As she followed me into the bathroom to fetch a tissue, she caught her reflection in the mirror. A giant smile broke across her face. Whereas I tend to avoid mirrors, she couldn't get enough. Her face, looking back at her made her so darn happy, I couldn't help feel it, too. She pointed. She giggled. It was if she was saying, "Look at this cute girl, wouldja?" And what really got me was that she leaned in and kissed herself. Mwa!
I'm not sure if I will ever get the point of loving the bathroom mirror or wanting to give myself a big smackeroo but maybe not running away from it would be a start. Perhaps I can even move up to a simple smile at myself. Or maybe for now, I'll just creep in alongside Izzie and make silly faces, too. That I can commit to. The rest shall come.
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