Magic Swimsuit

Do you ever feel like you’re a magnet for embarrassment? No? Just me. Good to know. I feel like there must be a special realm of reality outside of actual reality and the reality of the certifiably insane, where absurdity wrecks havoc and that is where I must exist.

My oldest is taking swim lessons at the rec center which in itself is awesome. Nothing makes me prouder than seeing my children learn new things. It was the coolest thing in the world to watch him grin when his teacher glided him through the water. My heart has never been more proud of him for trying something new, something that even terrifies grown adults.

Yesterday I rushed from my office in my work clothes to pick up the kids from preschool to be ready for swim lessons right at six o’clock. ON. THE. DOT. My fear of being late is amplified ten times whenever I have the kids with me.

I carried my oversized purse, a gym bag, two towels, and my daughter in one arm while I held my son’s hand through the parking lot. We made it in well before 6pm and I sighed a big giant sight of relief.

I changed out of my trousers and button up shirt and stepped out of the high heels I had stupidly worn that day. The only swimsuit I could find that morning was one from college, you know, before kids and when I was about thirty pounds heavier. To my amazement (or maybe sadness?) it fit great. I mean God is pretty unforgiving in the looks department after pregnancy but that could just be me. This suit was a two-piece tankini from the junior’s department at Target. The size on the tag is pretty far down in the alphabet, if you know what I’m saying. But, alas, I couldn’t find other suits anywhere.

Not to brag, but damn, I looked good. Sure the bottoms were granny style and hiked up to my belly button and the top plunged almost to my navel, but daaaaaaaaaaang, it just kinda worked. That bathing suit must be magic. It sucked my fat in the right places and held “things” ahem, perky. Daaaaaaaang.

I admired myself in the mirror for what was probably longer than is socially acceptable before I got redressed when swim lessons were over. By then it was pushing seven o’clock and tummies were getting hungry so I hurried us along as quickly as I could and threw my bags back over my shoulders with my wet towels and what I thought was both pieces of my newly discovered magic swim suit. Being the genius that I am I try to finangle my keys out of my bag while holding said towels, swim suit, and squirmy toddler while walking, because setting things down is for pussies.

We make it almost to the parking lot when I get the sinking feeling that something isn’t right and that knowing panic set in my stomach. I shook the pile of towels and ONE single piece of my swim suit, which of course is not the granny-panty-style-one-size-too-big-almost-a-decade-old-magic swim bottoms. I look around and they aren’t around.

Now I stop for one second, mortified already, and weighed whether it was worth going back to look for them or if I just scrap it. But I’m cheap, and like I said before, daaaaaaaaaang, that swim suit is b-a-n-a-n-a-s and there’s no way in hell I’m going to give up that magic instant hot-body look.

So, I pushed my sun glasses up higher on my face and turned around to collect the magic bottoms wherever they may have landed. First I scour the ground with my eyes looking for a ball of black material somewhere but at first I don’t see them. Then it dawns on me that maybe someone has already picked up my magic whale-size bottoms and the horror sets in.

I glance closer to the door and I see them crumpled by the door…. Three feet from what has to be Zac Efron’s cousin only taller/darker and (if you can believe it) better looking. AND HE’S BENDING DOWN TO PICK UP MY SWIM BOTTOMS THAT ARE AS WIDE AS THE MOON…. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

But it was too late. He sort of scooped them with his pointer finger and I swear, he did that lip curl disgust look like he had just thrown up a little bit in his mouth.

And then I really did throw up in my mouth.

I politely smiled and snatched them out of his hand and said, “thank you.” I didn’t look back.

I hope Zac Efron trips on a treadmill.

bicycle

Last year my husband bought me a bike for birthday. At the time I was on this crazy fitness kick, somehow thinking that if I peddled around my neighborhood a few times a week that my body would magically morph into Mila Kunis.

Turns out, that is not so.

Biking is hard, dude. While it maybe true that you never forget how to ride a bike, it doesn't mean you won't always be an awkward mess that resembles a drunken school kid trying to ride in a straight line.

But nonetheless I would ride my bike up and down the streets of Timberland Estates. In order to limit the humilitation of being seen in public I started riding my bike after dark. But I rode that bike that it was my job.

As you can probably guess I fell off of the bike bandwagon pretty quick once winter came around and my precious cruiser sat in the garage tucked to the side. Sometimes she would catch my eye and I'd mutter something about needed to get back on that, but the weather was cold, or I was tired, of the kids needed to eat dinner and it was quickly forgotten.

I've been a total slacker about exercising lately. Totally eating like there won't be any consequences. Cake, brownies, hamburgers, french fries, name it and I've scarfed it down with a large diet coke. Well yesterday we had some extra time in the evening right after the kids' bedtime so I opened the garage door and pulled out the old girl for a spin.

Just as I was about to jump on my neighbor drives up to her house. Instead of going about my business like a sane person, I decide to push the bike down the street a little further to avoid any awkwardness.... Because looking like some shady weirdo bicycle theif running away is NOT awkward at all. I'm a smarty, I tell ya.

So I finally get to a place out of sight and hop on. I notice that it's a little harder to pedal than I remembered, but chalk it up to one too many chicken nuggets on the couch in front of an episode of Toddlers and Tiaras. I continue to push through down my street further and further, but man am I really breaking a sweat now and my legs are burning. My fat ass is sliding off the seat and it's pushing into my babymaking parts (and not even in a good way).

This shit is starting to hurt!

At this point I'm clenching my teeth and practically having a heart attack in the middle of the intersection when I look down and notice that the stupid effing wheels have no air. What a #*%&#$@)!#* idiot I am.

Now I have run a half marathon, I have hiked up and down mountians, I have birthed two babies, but that bike ride was the hardest thing I have ever done in my life. I would have called my husband to have him come pick me up but I left my phone at home. I would have left that stupid bike on the road but I'm too cheap to do that.

I hate that bike.