The Search For The Ultimate Bathing Suit

We went up to the cottage for a little escape from the doldrums of Blyth. I needed to get away so badly, that I was ready to explode. Then I realized, it was bathing suit time. . . Now, I am not fat, but damn, the issue of Body Dysmorphic Disorder came to rear it's ugly head, as I flipped through the bikinis hanging on the racks. It seemed that they were all size 0's, and had half an ass. The bottoms would only cover one eighth of a cheek. I could rug hook a better bathing suit myself, but it would be insanely itchy. Then my family and friends would call me "Lisa Scratchy Pants". It wouldn't be the first time I tried to make a bikini. . .I remember my attempts at the crocheted kind, and ended up looking like I had raided my Nana's doilie drawer. I can only crochet circles, and wonky ones at that. I had gone into Sear's (gag) a few months ago to look at dress pants for Adam, and ended up in the bathing suit section (double gag). The suits looked like "Mother Suits". . . huge assed, droopy tit type apparel, that you know is going to end up down by your knees the moment a wave hits you. Lets just say if I won a lottery tomorrow, I would be lasered, nipped, tucked, zippered and velcro'd ASAP. Even though, looking at other people, I realize, I have nothing to be ashamed of, and neither do they. It's MY issue and everyone has issues, and tissues, and cashews. Everyone (case in point) is so concerned about themselves, that they do not notice other people's flaws. It's funny, thinking back to my teens, I refused to buy a bathing suit because I hung out with the "punk" crowd, and we just wore our Daisy Dukes and a black bras. (Very classy. . .not). Those were prime bikini moments, and I missed out. So, as I flipped through the racks harder, (realizing in retrospect, that I was making a lot of noise), I became angry with the benign pieces of material. I had a hissy fit. Which I took out on the Adam's Family pin ball game a little later. I sucked large. I spoke with my mother and she said when she was 28 she made the decision to start into the "one piece" divide. For me, the "one piece" signifies age. I am not ready to make the jump. Plain and simple, if you wear a one piece you are old (my distorted thought for the day). Old and mouldy. "There are such flattering shapes though" my mother said. "And you can have them as low cut as you want". True mom, very true. But where? Where is the ultimate non-mother-looking- stomach-cinching-waist-trimming-boob-elevating-life-preserving-light-up-with a spot for you Swiss Army knife bathing suit? Where is Stacy London and Clinton Kelly when I need them? Can "What Not To Wear" tell me when to toss the bikini and break out the one piecer? Maybe if I stick to the mantra "Do not look for the suit, the right suit will come to you", I will be a happier person.