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| The heart with a mind of its own.(Be present.) | The mind with a heart of its own.(It's past.) | The dream that is your waking life.(Go there now.) | |||
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The Demon In A Speedo Swimsuit
So I went happily off to the gym last night with Max and The Demon Who Always Does the Right Thing. And while we were working out, I remembered having seen swimsuits on sale at CostCo. (Speedo suits for $20. Run, don't walk). The Demon and I have been looking for swimsuits since late October/early November so that we can start swimming laps (which x agrees with as he claims to be desperate for a swimming partner) or doing water aerobics. In fact, we did go and try on swimsuits then, at a sporting goods store that carried Speedo suits up to size 14 or 16 for around $60. And, at the time, I was wearing a size 18, but I was like, it's a swimsuit, right? They stretch. I should at least try it on. Right. So I go into the dressing room--after searching for someone to let me into a dressing room, as the salespeople easily believed that The Demon (who is roughly the same size I am) wanted to try on clothes, but one look at me? Not so much. Maybe I'm so imbued with the "She's just the fat friend, here for moral support" vibe that salesgirls don't even give me a second look, but after The Demon had been given a dressing room, I had to stop the salesgirl from leaving, gesture at the swimsuit in my hands, and make a joke about sharing the dressing room with The Demon before I got my own dressing room. So I went in and put on the suit--the largest suit they had, if you recall. And I looked a lot like a homemade sausage gone wrong. It was ugly. It was ugly and frightening both. The Demon called out to me from her dressing room, "How's it look?" and got as a reply a kind of wretched, gargled, "urgh-arugm." Because I was already trying to wrestle myself out of ten ounces of spandex material that had been stretched, stretched beyond reason, over my apparently horribly mishapen body. Um. This story had a point--besides to embarrass myself--when I started it. But of course I don't remember what that point was. So, anyway, now I'm a few sizes smaller and a few Speedo issues smarter, so off we tromped to CostCo, where you can't try on swimsuits (or any clothing for that matter) before you buy them. We took a few shots in the dark, and bought the size that the measurements on the card attached to the suit indicated. And it was not the largest size they carry either. And guess what. No, really. Guess. No? Okay, I'll tell you: Mine is too big. I own (for the moment anyway, until I have time to return it) a Speedo suit that is too big, people. This is the kind of miracle that wakes the Pope from a sound night's sleep I think. I also scored a pair of CK jeans in a size smaller than Max wears. (Not that he couldn't squeeze into them if he wanted to, but they are smaller than his. Not that they aren't relaxed fit, and if I relax in them, they don't fit, but they are still smaller than Max's jeans. I have never been smaller--physically--than Max. Not in all the years we were together.) Ha. Also? The Demon and The Demon Grrlfriend are coming on Wednesday for a viewing of the Aisho-san. I told The Demon that she was going to have to give advice on how to successfully approach the Aisho-san, and she said she would be happy to, but that I had to bear in mind that her techniques are all girl-specific and might not work on a boy. But I don't care. Even if they don't work on an Aisho-san, maybe I can pick up some cute little Japanese waitress as a consolation prize. WWLD? That's what I want to know.
More lies:
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