To work in the bathing suit department, it is important – critical even, to possess the diplomacy skills of a well seasoned politician. Women come to this brightly lit section of department stores, with its mirrors and tiny articles of clothing, with significantly more resignation and dread than excitement. My fragile ego was no exception as I wandered into Nordstrom’s Active Wear department -- unfortunately directly after a big lunch with the girls. That is why I was more than a little bit unnerved when I spotted the saleswoman approaching me. Cassie, as I later learned her name, sauntered over in a brand new edition of the store’s active wear, which included skin tight yoga pants and a running shirt that strongly suggested she was about to hit the road in 90 degree weather. The girls and I gingerly fingered through brightly covered prints while I tried not to make eye contact with Cassie. Brooklyn, pulling on a hanger, told me with heavy authority that I should get a neon pink number with ruffles on the bum.
“Looking for a suit?” The young woman asked as she raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. As I turned my attention away from them, the girls began darting into the clothes racks sending waves of bathing suits into the air. Giggles and squeals followed. Most often I am proud of my children. However shopping with me is not their strong suit. I shoot them a threatening look that unequivocally says (albeit silently) “knock it off or the icecream I promised you is off the table.” The girls straighten up and resume their manners for the moment.
“Yes,” I say.
“Oh,” she says… “Fun! Are you going anywhere special?”
“My husband and I are going to Bermuda.” I tell her.
“Exciting!” She breathes, and blinks her heavily mascaraed eyes at me. She looks me up and down then. She really does. Look me up and down. I protectively try to suck my tummy in, to no avail. The Portobello mushroom sandwich I just ate makes it impossible. “Sooo, are you looking for a one-piece? A tankini?” Her assessment of me is clear.
I look around at the flesh covering one piece suits and tankinis. Though she couldn’t possibly comprehend what this simple question suggested to me -- all the intricate insinuations and insults, I couldn’t help but bristle… It’s the same complicated feeling that comes the day when the cashier at the grocery store no longer bothers to card you for the bottle of wine you’re buying, and you sort-of hate him for it. Or when you notice that you’re consistently referred to as “ma’am” instead of “miss.” I try to see myself through the eyes of this young woman, as my three children resume their antics in the bathing suit racks. Me, with the perma-concerned (bordering- on-frown-lines) between my eyes, three (ill-behaved at the moment) kids, a tee-shirt that is only half-assedly covering my sandwich belly… Yes, I have a half eaten grilled cheese sandwich in my purse (not my own) and yes, I also have a pair of underwear in there (also not my own)… Yes, I’m closer to forty than thirty, but I’m still not ready for a one-piece!
“No, fucker,” I hear myself thinking, recounting all the hot yoga classes and 6 mile trail runs I’ve logged the last few months.
“I was thinking a two-piece,” I tell her, and watch her eyes widen a bit.
“Oh! Okay!” She chirps, heading to the rack in the front of the department without missing a beat. “Did you see this one?” She asks as she clicks through the hangers. She finds the one she wants and displays it by dangling it by the hanger on her index finger. It’s a black and white number and it looks cute, though the bottoms are particularly small – tiny even. Just then the price-tag dangles into view -- $82 for just the top. I can’t see the tag on the bottoms… though if I put those bottoms on my bottom you’d see everything under the sun. They look about the same size as the 3T underwear in my purse, I think. Cassie’s eyes twinkle a little bit. “I’ll go start a room for you,” she says as she carts the ridiculously expensive, slutty suit, via her index finger, to the dressing area. I haven’t gotten to the dressing room and already I’m nauseous. I hightail it over to the ‘Reduced’ section because if I’m about to embark on putting embarrassingly small bathing suits on in front of a three way mirror, I will, at the very least, do it for a deeply discounted price. As luck would have it there’s a cute Roxy suit in the sale section that I find very cute, and even the girls, who have momentarily stopped their shenanigans to be my fashion consults, agree.
Just then Cassie pops back over. “I just realized I didn’t ask your size… I just grabbed a medium – is that?”
Before she could suggest I look in the XL section I say, “Yes! That’s perfect!” and head toward the dressing room.
As expected, I’m confronted with my reflection (times three) as I enter the room with Cassie’s bathing suit selection already hanging on the hook. I sigh.
Peyton says, “Oh, try this one first!” scooping up Cassie’s pick. What the heck, I think and pull it off the hanger clips.
Standing fully naked in front of a three way mirror, with reflective fluorescent lights accentuating every last little inch of flesh is not for the faint of heart. I work quickly and get the suit on.
“I love it!” Peyton tells me, as she looks directly at my butt crack hanging out the back of the suit. The front of the suit isn’t any better. I then make the mistake of turning in front of the three way mirror to get a back view. The sight is disturbing and I get the suit off just as clever Cassie knocks on the door.
“Do you like it?” She asks.
I’m at a loss for words and moreover, feeling humbled by the sight of my backside in the mirror. “Nope,” is all I can manage.
“Can I get you another size?” Cassie, in her ever helpful manner, asks.
“I’m just going to try on the one I picked,” I respond. I probably sound weird. I’m trying not to tell her to shut up and leave me alone.
By the grace of God, the Roxy suit is cute. I like it. It covers all the important parts and sections that need to be securely out of view. I’m still rattled by the backside mirror image I had in the other suit so I don’t look with this one on. As a matter of fact, I’m looking at myself by squinting heavily, so as to just ever so slightly soften the details. The girls are seemingly very excited about this suit. “I love it! It looks great!” they all tell me. I know that more than anything they are ready to get out of this dressing room and hit the ice cream store. But I thank them for their compliments and encouragement. I buy the suit. From Cassie. And then I do what any self-respecting mom with three kids, who has just purchased a two-piece bathing suit, does. I went and bought ice cream – for all four of us.
