Why do I hate fitting rooms?
The mirrors lie. Yes they do. That cant be my body staring back at me. Or can it?
Today, I went shopping for a bathing suit. This is an excursion that i put off until deemed absolutely necessary, an undertaking that, even on the best of days, can take me all the way down to chocolate and potato chip cravings. I begrudgingly walk past all the cute suits, the ones that barely require a hanger and didnt use more than two pieces of thread to stitch together. I tell myself that these are for all the girls, and of course I am a woman now, a mother. Someone's mother. "I wouldnt wear one of those suits now if it fit anyway". Yeah, right.
As I flip too quickly through the one-piece suits that I made fun of as a younger pre-children person, I feel the effects of karma at its finest. Slap. Finally, I find one that is semi-suitable (excuse the pun) and take it into THE ROOM.
This is the part that causes the distress. The real damage. I attempt just trying it on and not turning around to look in the mirror. No. A force I cant explain whirls my body around and I stop, catching my shallow breath. I redress, gather myself and the suit and leave THE ROOM. And walk to the register. And actually pay for the thing. And leave the store in search of that sweet&salty combination that heals most emotional wounds - especially ones as trivial and short-lived as these. ..