This is the online photo of another swimsuit I bought, and I texted a friend a photo of how it looked on me…
Me: “I’m sending this back. I don’t even know why I bought it. I’m gonna be standup paddleboarding and shit — I need something sportier. But damn, I look CUTE.”
Friend: “You look great and you should keep it and wear that shit every time you go near water.”
Here’s to friends who are more supportive than bathing suits. 🍸
I ordered swimsuits online so I could try them on and suffer privately, and perhaps call my therapist.
And I love knowing before I even open it that my breast is not fitting in there.
That’s adorable, though. You tried.
I feel attacked by my mail today. 
I just realized I’ll need to buy a bathing suit sometime in the next few weeks. I had one, but donated it when I decluttered — it was 6 years old and had always been a little loose on me, and it was silly of me to ever entrust my breasts to a Target swimsuit with no underwire.
But my body image has been hovering around normal this week, so it’s probably best not to destroy it with a trip to the mall and fluorescent fitting-room lights on my bare thighs. We’ll wait for the bridge troll to re-inhabit my psyche. We’ve discussed the eating of my feelings, so the steady intake of Mexican food, cheesesteak hoagies, and bagels should start screwing with my body and my brain any day now.
Smug Singleton 