I've been meaning to get a bikini. I spend too much time fully clothed for a bask-happy girl with a tattoo to show off, and I believe that the ability to be effectively naked but technically decent will help remedy this situation. (Last year's sewing experiment, the plaid flannel bikini, fails marginally to meet the technically-decent requirement on account of inappropriate hemming allowances.)
Now since this is one of the few categories of things which I will not seek first at a thrift store, and I'll spend more than $25 on a piece of summer clothing when the sun turns black and dogs and cats live together, this really only leaves Target. That's where I went today, courtesy of a spiffy four-day holiday weekend from work. I grabbed a bunch of the least objectionable tops and bottoms I could find, tried them on, and was struck by the following inescapable truths.
As any reasonable person would do in my situation, I got indignant. How can they not carry my size at all? I huffed. These tops are all made for people with boobs! Don't they realize they have a customer with the chest of a twelve... year... old... girl? Huh.
I wandered over into the little girls' section and poked through the rack of tiny swimsuits. The bottoms, I thought, will definitely be too small, but maybe the tops will work. I found something in a girls' extra-large and wandered back to the dressing room with it. I tried on the top.
It fit fine. It wasn't padded out to here and didn't hang off me.
Since that was almost too easy, I tried on the bottoms.
They fit fine. They weren't scooped up to there and didn't have any weird little sashes or rosettes on them.
$12. One classic blue Hawaiian-print bikini, the likes of which couldn't be found for love nor money in the women's section. Ass: covered. Boobs: covered. Weird little sashes and rosettes: none. I've decided to bake a cake for my chest, to show it how much I appreciate it making all this possible. At this point I'm not sure if I should reassure you that that won't be the cake I bring to 4th of July, or if I should assure you that it will be, so if you have thoughts on the matter you should feel free to share them.
Posted by dianna at July 1, 2005 06:33 PMVunderful. How does apple spice with crumb topping sound to you?
Posted by: Dianna at July 2, 2005 09:10 AMBoob cake aside, I think it's delightful that you have found your home in the girls' section and I have found mine in the mens'. Board shorts, sports bra, wifebeater, SPF 60, that's my recipe. No padding or ruffles. Of course, it doesn't do anything toward getting one a tan, but I don't think either of us has many expectations in that department.
Posted by: katie at July 3, 2005 06:29 PMI find it hilarious that even though you're the butch one around here and I'm the femme one, you actually wear bras with your wifebeaters and I just don't bother. How'd that happen?
Posted by: Dianna at July 3, 2005 08:02 PMThe day they make a push-up wifebeater is the day I stop wearing bras altogether.
I'm not butch! A real butch would kick my ass! I'm a butchy femme. Or a tomboy. Or...someone who doesn't want her nipples showing through her white wifebeater.
Posted by: katie at July 3, 2005 08:23 PMThe day they make a push-up wifebeater is the day I stop wearing wifebeaters, because really, what the hell d'you call that? It's not a wifebeater unless wearing it, and only it, as a shirt is indecent and socially frowned-upon.
But you're right, tomboy is more like it. Hangs out with the guys (the gay guys, that is) and wears their clothes and all that. May secretly harbor girly behavior when they're not looking, but then, so might they, so that's all right.
Either that or more categories are needed, because I've been described as a butchy femme too and we're definitely not the same level of butch/femme-ness at this point.
Posted by: Dianna at July 3, 2005 08:37 PM