The Crabbiest Person You Know Blogs Here

Thank you for your comments and suggestions for the new magazine. You guys are AWESOME. But we knew that already, right? Right.

As is my custom, I’ve moved on to another area of obsession interest now. Or maybe I’ll just expand the empire. Investors (thank you all!) are lining up nicely, and we’re upwards of $20 now in pledges. :)

Our new targeted takeover is the field of swimsuit manufacturers, in particular women’s swimsuits, and in extra-special particular, swimsuits for women whose bodies do not lend themselves to necklines that plunge down to there, women whose there is good four to five inches lower than it was 100 pounds ago, perilously close to the other there, which is also not suitable for public display.

We will also target and eradicate from ALL swimsuits worldwide (and beyond) the most idiotic concept of all: the molded bra cup. Clothing should allow for some flexibility and adjustment in fit. Molded bra cups are an arrogant assumption that our breasts are standard across the universe and that all our bodies are proportional.

At what point will women’s clothing designers understand that women’s body parts do not follow a pattern? When will they get that it is entirely possible for a woman to have size 14 hips, wear a size 10 waist, and be a candidate for a training bra? Or vice versa. Some of us {points thumb at self} are built the other way round. (Yes, there are 7-10 women whose measurements DO match up perfectly to manufacturers’ sizes, but we’re working on having them deported and where will you be then, Mr. Manufacturer?)

You might have figured out that I’ve spent the week trying on swimsuits. The eternal week from Hell, my friends. I have gotten nekkid in strange places more times this week than the summer…well, that’s just way too personal.

I am coming to happy terms with my less than perfect body. It is much more fit than it was 2 years ago, but after shedding so much weight (and turning 50), it’s a tad saggy and droopy. That’s not an indictment, mind you. My body breathes and all the parts move, and a lot of folks don’t have that luxury. Plus, it looks pretty darn good when covered in regular clothes. The swimsuit is whole ‘nother animal.

Eight stores. EIGHT. I quit counting at 30 swimsuits. I even tried on a maternity swimsuit at Target, and if they’d had it in small, I would’ve bought it just to have a swimsuit and be done with it. (All ranting aside, if you’re built like me with a “rounder” belly and absent a bust to go with it, there are some cutecutecute possibilities in maternity suits, plus you can buy them in smaller sizes than you normally wear because you’re not going to need the “extra” space to grow into. A free tip from me to my round-bellied friends.)

Anyway, I persevered and came up with a one-of-a-kind Cammy special: a tankini set from JCPenney and some swim shorts from Target to cover the saggy thighs. I look athletic, if a bit jiggly in the middle, and while I won’t be strutting on the beach, neither will I be cowering in the car.

But it shouldn’t have taken me 4 shopping trips to 8 stores and 30+ swimsuits to get here.

And accepting responsibility for my own role in this debacle, a swimsuit will never, ever reduce me to tears again. It’s just not that important.


Ending the week on a positive note, I worked out my aggressions at the gym this a.m. and decided to do one of my periodic weigh-ins. Result: right on target! Maybe even a pound too low. An excellent way to start a vacation. :)

I’ll return you to your lives now. It is abundantly clear that I am in need of a nap, and I think I’m going to indulge myself. Wishing you all a most magnificent weekend. I’ll drop by your blogs when I’m no longer being Lady Crabcakes.