our vacation, day 2

Problem #3 on our road trip was another oversight on my part. I forgot my bathing suit. Even though Alex had reminded me and asked me over 73 times if I had packed it. It actually became a running joke before we left. About an hour or two into the trip while watching the road and re-packing my bag in my mind I realized I had not packed my bathing suit. When I told Alex that I had honestly forgotten it he thought I was joking. ha ha ha.

The real reason this was a problem is because I hate shopping for bathing suits. And unless I wanted to forgo the spa at the Grand Canyon I was forced to get a new suit. I don't know any woman who looks forward to a trip to a department store to scrutinize her cellulite under fluorescent lighting in a cramped space with someone knocking on the door asking if things are "working out in there". I especially abhor it. I bought a bathing suit in 1996 that worked just fine until 2000, when the elastic in the shoulder straps gave way. I ordered the 2000 bathing suit from a catalogue, successfully avoiding the dressing room all together. The 2000 suit wasn't too bad, as a matter of fact it's quite practical and borderline middle-age-y. Anything that's advertised as "tug free" and "Kindest Cut" for the upper thigh/ass region is okay with me, although I'm pretty sure those kind of suits are more geared towards ladies who are 40 and over. Land's End doesn't mess around when it comes to comfort, and I'll take that over fashion any day, especially when it comes to exposing more skin than I think I should. But, alas, the Land's End comfort suit sat in my dresser drawer for this vacation and Alex and I were forced to stop at a mall of outlet stores in Las Vegas.

For a Sunday it wasn't as crowded as I thought an outlet mall should be, but then again, we were in the desert. I reluctantly went to a store with only swimsuits straight away to just get the whole thing over with. But it was just the beginning of a long day of ego squashing. The women working in the store were quite helpful, perhaps a bit too over zealous. One of the employees correctly guessed what size pants I wore and then proceeded to point me in the direction of what I was looking for. I brought 5 suits into the dressing room with me. None of them fit. I tried on the first one, couldn't pull it up past my knee. The next one barely made it over my thighs. Another one cut off the circulation in my armpits. All of them confirmed how doughy and pasty I thought I was. I neatly hung them all back up, thought about weeping, but instead forged on. I gathered some more suits, some larger suits. I thought if I went for the tankini I would be okay, you can't go wrong with a tank top and something that looks like granny underwear for the bottom, right? Once again I got into the dressing room and found myself struggling to get these overpriced pieces of spandex and nylon over my thighs or rib cage. I hung all the new failures up, this time not so neatly. Who needs to go in a hot tub, anyways? I left the all-suit store, gravely disappointing the perky sales staff. Alex and I made our way to another store and although Alex gave me nothing but words of support I entered the new dressing room with knots in my stomach as I started the whole process again. No success. We moved on to the next store, same story. I finally told Alex that I was done, because at this point I was just wasting valuable vacation time by trying on suits and hurting my self esteem. I started engraving invitations for my pity party. We decided to leave the mall and think about a bathing suit later. Our car was parked closest to the entrance of the Polo store so we decided to cut through. While passing through I noticed a rack of pretty good looking bathing suits, and Alex encouraged me to try one on. He picked out the orange one.
Here's some advice for any pale Irish gals out there: never, ever try on an orange bathing suit. Especially if you are already in a bad mood.
I was in too deep to quit now though, I was going to solve the suit problem... RIGHT NOW. There was no way I was going to start this process all over again, especially on the Strip in Vegas. I grabbed 4 different sizes of navy blue suits. I went into the dressing room and started with the biggest size. Victory was mine.

As it turns out, when buying a swimsuit simply follow this rule - if you wear a size 6 or 8 in pants then you should just take your pride directly to the dumpster and then grab a size 14 bathing suit. Because that's the one that's gonna fit you. I don't know what these fashion people are thinking, but give a girl a break. We are at our most vulnerable when looking for swimwear, how hard is it to boost a some spirits by just making your numbers a little smaller? Had I known it was as easy as grabbing something that's double my size I wouldn't have taken so long bruising my thighs and ego trying to fit into merchandise.

We finally made it to the Las Vegas Strip on Sunday afternoon. We checked in at the Tropicana. And after all the sweat and tears I put into getting that damn bathing suit I couldn't convince Alex to go down to the pool with me.