Can you hear it?

The HEAVIEST, LONGEST SIGH IN THE WORLD. Women around the world know this sound, recognize it as they would the cries of their own infants. They hear it, and know one of their own is suffering somewhere, alone with a reflection and a few ounces of unforgiving spandex.

It is the sigh of despair in response to the Annual Trying On Of A Swimsuit.

I went to Nordstrom today to try on a La Blanca swimsuit that I thought looked very nice online. I knew I needed a size or two smaller from last year's La Blanca swimsuit, but since it was quite pricey I wanted to stare it down unmercifully in the store rather than waste any time ordering it and sending it back forthwith.


I should know better by know. I always somehow expect to see this:

And what I always see is this:

Good god. Now, OK, I realize that reality lies somewhere between those two pictures, and that the numbers on the swimsuit tags are good. But sometimes the idea of the Swim Burka seems really, really appealing:

The La Blanca suit was OK, considering, but not good enough to warrant paying close to $200 stupid dollars. For that, I want some kind of magic or fabric that infuses Valium into my skin. I also tried on a very cute retro Juicy suit that was well-designed and even comfy but made me look like a waist-less rectangle.

Oh, WHY should I even care? It's so silly. And I don't care all THAT much, because I know that no one is looking at me when I am out in a swimsuit and I am not all that invested in anyone's opinion about what I do or do not look like anyway. One of the strong benefits to getting older is not giving a flaming rat's ass about stuff. I am sure there is some sort of kind biological function to that.

I will wear the old swimsuit and keep hiking it up, or wear the Target swimsuit that looked about as good as the La Blanca at a tenth of the price. And I will have fun in my swimsuit, that is for sure, while ignoring the roar of the collective sighs riding over the crashing ocean surf.