This week when I went to the mall, I had a startling and ugly realization: it’s swimsuit season again.
Every store window is alive with tiny bikinis and their equally horrendous “cover ups,” the short short. Guys aren’t off the hook either, as this year’s trunks are short and slim.
By the time I’d finished my trip, I was in a full state of unbridled panic. Normally what I’ve come to call my “bathing costume” — a tankini that emphasizes the cleavage but obscures the belly — does the trick. But this past year has been a killer, and even though I work out like a mo’fo three or four times a week and watch what I eat, nature, hormones, and gravity are doing their damndest to pack on a pooch that only kangaroos might envy.
So what can you expect when you’re not expecting? (Please note this applies not only to women who’ve been through the belly stretcher of pregnancy, but also to men, women who’ve never had kids, and even my poor little bitch, who technically is older than me now and sports a furry spare tire, particularly when she sits awaiting the next snack.)