Today, I went swimsuit shopping. And wasn't it just merry hell.
I often find myself hating any form of clothes shopping as you invariably end up feeling utterly horrible about yourself. But I have a special hatred reserved for bra shopping and swimsuit shopping, in fact, pants shopping as well, but that's more because my natural laziness is frustrated by the amount of effort that is required to go pants shopping. Take off pants, put pants on, repeat.
But. Swimsuits. They are in the same category as bras to my mind. The shop itself is a small warehouse of swimsuits, and decorated with pictures of these horrifyingly thin, tanned, and cheerful women who have most likely been airbrushed to hell and back on the walls. For those of us who do not have the body of a supermodel, the constant reminder of your inadequate body is reinforced by theses posters that decorate the walls.
Then the swimsuits themselves. Sorted in colour, style, brand, stripe, type, and everything in between without the assistance of a handy shop person you sort of wander around the store in this dazed confusion, picking out things which catch your eye at random.
That's the easy part. Then comes the actual trying on of the swimsuits. You go into this small cubicle, and take off your clothes. Rather confrontingly there is a mirror right in front of you, exposing every single piece of skin you cover with clothes so you don't wish to see it. As I was staring in the mirror today, I thought, 'I can't possibly be that proportioned - I look like some form of troll'. So the mirrors themselves are the sort that make you look well, let's face it, fatter than you actually are.
Then you are trying on these swimsuits. This didn't happen to me today (thank god), but the worst feeling is when you have to ask for the next size up. You invariably pay money for this particular experience.
Although it the experience was somewhat tempered for me by the fact that in the changing stall next to me, there was a small child chucking the mother of all tantrums. It was truly spectacular, and I was privileged enough to hear it escalate into the hysterical mode from mere whinge. I was texting my friend about it, as we have this thing where we love to see small children chucking hissy fits, as we both stand there and think 'thank god that isn't me having to deal with it'.
Anyway, that is the end of why swimsuit shopping is torture.
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