I hate February. It’s not the month itself so much as what happens during the shortest, often coldest month of the year. Catalogs featuring women’s swimsuits begin arriving in the mail. You can’t get away from them. Ironically, the one I dread the most isn’t even addressed to me. It’s the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition, featuring extraordinarily beautiful women posed in all kinds of unnatural positions while showing a variety of dental floss custom made for their bodies. No other woman on earth can wear these swimsuits. This must make the models very sad. I can’t help but notice that they’re all pouting.
The mail box is full of catalogs advertising swimsuits that, if you hurry, can arrive by early March, just as the snow begins to melt. For just less than the cost of a monthly car payment, women all over the world can order swimsuits that promise to hide “problem areas” and reshape their bodies into those of goddesses. “Unbelievably flexible!” screams one ad. “Dries twice as fast as an ordinary suit!” declares another. My personal favorite is the “Tan Thru® Suit that makes it possible to wear a one-piece swimsuit, yet still get tan all over as if you tanned nude. Apparently, the Italians have discovered a way to create swimwear that humans can’t see through, but the sun can. Clearly, they’re still trying to make up for that whole Fiat Spider joke they played on us years ago. No matter. I don’t intend to order a swimsuit from any catalog, despite the attractive promises.
For me, shopping for a swimsuit is a once-a-decade activity that involves spending an entire day at the mall. I always start at a large department store, usually searching the racks for black or navy suits because I became convinced years ago that those are slimming colors. I stretch, moan and curse as I pull each one on and off, wondering how it’s possible that I wear one size in pants, but three sizes larger in a swimsuit. The three-way mirrors make it easy to reject each suit as unflattering. Like most women, I always turn around and look to see if my butt looks too big. It always does. I’m not sure why this matters, since few people will ever actually see it. I wear a large shirt or some type of cover-up over my suit when I’m not in the water. And when I’m out of the water, I usually am sitting in a lounge chair.
Every time I try on swimsuits I admonish myself for being the fattest, most out-of-shape person at the mall and I swear I’ll lose at least 30 pounds before I actually buy a new swimsuit. Then I leave the dressing area and head straight to the cookie kiosk for a chocolate covered double-fudge delight and a Diet Coke® while I ponder where else to shop for a beautiful suit of microfiber that will simultaneously slim my thighs, hide my stomach and make my breasts look perky.
One day, while trying on swimsuits in a department dressing room store, I was staring at myself in the mirror when suddenly a little blonde haired girl about three years old popped her head under the door. I don’t know who was more startled, but I just said, “Hi there!” and smiled. She pulled the rest of her body into the dressing room, stood up and said, “You look pretty.”
I don’t know what possessed me to respond the way I did, but I looked down at her and said, “Which one would you pick – the black one or the blue one?”
“Blue!” she screamed. “It’s pretty!”
I was wearing the blue one.
About that time, her mother began yelling her name. “Kaitlin! Where are you? You get in here right now!”
And as quickly as she appeared, she disappeared.
Within moments I purchased the blue one, based solely on the approval of a pint sized stranger.
It was the only swimsuit I wore that summer. My daughters told me they liked it. My husband didn’t ask if I planned to return it, so I figured he liked it as well. Every time I put that swimsuit on, I smiled at the thought of Kaitlin telling me she “It’s pretty!” She has no idea that her little opinion would have such a big influence.
Maybe some day when she is in her forties – or older – and feeling fat and insecure, some little girl will appear to tell her that she’s fine just the way she is. We all need Kaitlins – not just in our dressing rooms, but in our psyches and hearts… because she’s right… we’re fine just the way we are.
