Excuse me, could you point me to the nearest leper colony?

Several days ago, I left my home and purposely forged into enemy territory.  On the outside, I appeared confident and unshakable.  Inside, my heart was accelerating, nausea was twisting my stomach in knots, and there were nearly tears.  I entered the doors to the building, walked up to a woman with a name tag, and asked, "Where is the dreaded swimsuit department?"  She looked at me, smiled, and pointed down an aisle.  "What we have is right over there."  The way she worded the sentence made me think that maybe there were not many suits to choose from.  Perhaps swimsuits had gone out of fashion and were being replaced by loose fitting, yet some how flattering, smocks?  The swimwear of the early 1900's was making a comeback!  A time in history when it was not unusual for women's swimsuits to have sleeves.  God was smiling on me......

My friends and I at the beach.

 

 

As I happily approached the area the sales associated had pointed towards, I was reminded that God has a sense of humor.  The racks were full of brightly colored Lycra, floral and striped, one-piece, two-piece, and teeny weeny bikinis.  Something for everyone!!!!  I kept looking for the retro swim romper or the newest aqua frock from Paris, but I was disappointed to find exactly what I find every year.  Lots and lots of choices that fall into one of three categories:  "Doesn't fit," "Ugly," and "That'll Do."  I have never had a bikini figure.  I have never won a, "Hot Bod," contest.  But, I am comfortable enough with myself that I will put on a swimsuit and enjoy the pool or beach with my kids.  I like to get tan lines in the summer ("Tan fat looks better than pale fat.").   Fruity, frozen drinks while sitting on a pontoon with friends and family are some good times.  To my advantage, my best "assets" are out of the water while I'm standing in the shallow end of the pool.  My plan is to get to the cookout early, make sure the bosom looks awesome, and keep the lower half of my body underwater until everyone is intoxicated.  After enough drinks, no one will care how I look in my suit.  It may be my tipsy friends whom do not care; it may be tipsy me whom no longer cares how I look in my suit.  I believe swimsuits should come with a gift card to the nearest liquor store to make the event less painful (and more likely to be blacked out of your memory) for everyone.  I picked a suit from the, "That'll Do," pile, and I pray that I do not have to go through this process for at least a year.

The most comfortable I have ever been in swimwear was both times I was pregnant with my daughters.  It may seem strange to confess that at the two times when my body was its largest, roundest, most bulbous and swollen, those were the most content I ever felt in a swimsuit.  Why?  Because when you have a baby in your belly, no one expects you to suck in that gut.  There was a reason Sports Illustrated did not call you for the swimsuit edition that year:  you were swimming for two.  I loved floating around like a big ole whale gestating her calf in the water.  It was liberating to just bob up and down with the waves, and when I would get 'beached' on the steps of the pool, some concerned friend would roll me back into the water.  Ahhh, memories.

 

Shopping for a swimsuit, for me, is like purposely vacationing at a leper colony.  Why do I put myself in that uncomfortable place?  I guess I am the Father Damien of Swimwear.  I am sure that shopping for swimwear is a lot of fun when the size you buy is the same as your shoe size.  If that were my case, I would be arriving at my sister's Memorial Day party wearing clown shoes. 





A Love Letter

Dear Mom,

Happy Mother's Day!  I thought I should write you a letter to make sure all these words are on paper.  That way, if I am ever at a loss to tell you how I feel about you, I can refer back to my notes.  You are an amazing person; not just an amazing mother, but you are amazing to your core.  This fact is confirmed by the hundreds of people who get a smile on their face simply by the sound of your name.  You raised four children that all have children of their own.  Your grandchildren have been blessed that their parents had the most wonderful example to learn from.  The love and tenderness you brought to our childhood, the laughter and smiles you freely gave to all of us, and the love of singing any song regardless of knowing the correct lyrics or not were my favorite parts of growing up.  You were the soft hand to Dad's iron fist. You were (literally) always the, "good cop," to his,"bad cop."  You allowed yourself to be the clown when the situation needed a comedic hero.  When it comes to being a mom, I had the best instructor there is.

Even if a person goes to the best schools and has the best instructors, it does not mean they are going to be perfect at what they do.  I am the iron fist in my children's lives.  The role of, "bad cop," is usually played by me.  Ironically, I am the clown even though real clowns annoy the crap out of me.  Statistically, I am not the daughter that grew up to be just like you.  However, one day you gave me the best compliment.  As different as we can be, you told me once that I was the kind of person you had always wanted to be.  I voice my opinion.  I stand up for the underdog.  When I was in fifth grade, I slapped a girl in the face because she said my friend was ugly.  I am fearless.  I keep my friends and family close, and I send toxic people on their way.  The best thing you ever said is that I am nothing like you, but that I am what you strive to be.  How ridiculous is that?  It is amazingly, lovingly, and honorably ridiculous.

Happy Mother's Day to my mother.  You are the beautiful, smart, funny woman that I want to be when I grow up.

Sincerely,

Amy (your favorite)

ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE!!!!!!!! Wait...it's just allergy season.

I live in Indiana.  The Crossroads of America.  The Hoosier State.  Heart of the Midwest.  Home of the Indianapolis 500 - The Greatest Spectacle in Racing.  AND, the worst f@$&ing place to be if you have seasonal allergies.  About 15 years ago, I started developing, "hay fever."  A little sneezing, watery eyes, no big deal.  As the years have progressed, so have the allergy symptoms.  My allergist explained to me at one appointment that parts of the country gets a lot of tree pollen.  Some parts of the country get grass and weed pollens.  Lucky us get to enjoy both here in Indiana.  This week has been the worst for me so far this season.  Every day, when I walk out of the house to my SUV, there is a fine layer of yellow pollen covering my vehicle.  The temperatures have been warm and breezy, but I have every window closed and the A/C blowing.  If I try to do some yard work, I have to keep tissues in my pocket and remember not to rub my itchy eyes.

Most of allergy season, I can find relief with over-the-counter allergy medication and allergy eye drops.  Unfortunately, there are a few weeks a year that my normal regimen does not quite cut it.  A few days ago, I decided that more is better when it comes to antihistamines.  Instead of one allergy pill for the 24-hour period (as prescribed), I took two pills about 12 hours apart. I still sneezed and snotted all day.  My eyes were so extremely itchy, I rubbed them until they were swollen, red, and watering.  Then, I was reminded that I had put lotion on my hands prior to clawing my eyes because then the skin all around my eyeballs started to burn.  More allergy eye drops squirted into the irritated orbs, so then gooey liquid was dripping down my face.  I still could not get to sleep, so I took a Benadryl at bedtime.  I finally fell asleep.  That must have been when the zombies showed up.

I woke up very reluctantly the next morning.  I slowly staggered into the bathroom, turned on the light, and saw myself in the mirror.  Holy Christ, it looked as if I could have eaten someones brain for breakfast.  My eyes were gross, hollow-looking, dark circles on my face.  The combination of eye goo from the pollen, allergy eye drops, and irritating hand lotion had dried into a creepy scaly pattern around my eyes.  The sheer amount of antihistamines in my system were still giving me a contact high.  I actually was sooooo zoinked out that I stared at my reflection like the un-dead had commandeered my body.  "You look like me.....but you aren't exactly me...."  I brushed my teeth in slow motion.  When I walked down the hallway to wake up my daughters, I thought I was going to start dragging one leg and holding both arms straight out in front of me.  I was relieved to hear the words, "Girls, it is time to wake up," come out of my mouth instead of, "AAARRR!!!!!  BRAINS!!!!"  As the day went on, I slowly came out of my fog and felt slightly more like myself again.

So, next time you watch a zombie movie, look at those poor creatures.  Are they really after your flesh?  Did they really want to eat brains?  Maybe they just need a Zyrtec and a box of Kleenex.

"Excuse me...could you tell us where we could find the aisle with the allergy medications?  Thanks."