Dear Swimsuit Season, Fuck You
Fuck you. Hard. I'm trying my very best not to give a shit that you are here. You basically crept up on me when I was binge eating Ritz Bacon flavored crackers, and for that, you can go ahead and die. Like, why? Why does it feel like you are coming to get me earlier and earlier each year? And why are you even a "thing?" It's called SUMMER. Summer is a season. Asshole. More importantly though, why do I care so much about you? I should be thrilled to put on a bathing suit and frolic in the sun. Lies, I never frolic. But instead I am cringing. I am scared of you. You are a judgey bitch and you make my under boobs sweat. I hate you. And I hate myself for giving a flying fuck. I'm not trying to pick up boys. I'm certainly not trying to impress anyone. Nope, this is all about me. It's how I feel when I look in the mirror. And how I feel right now is 15 pounds heavier than where I would like to be with goddamn red bumps on my bikini line (because apparently I have "course" hair, or so a waxer lady once told me) and a muffin top for days. Do you know the muffin man? Cause I do. That fucker lives on my sides and he's a real prick who over stays his welcome.
Now, I am trying to get myself in check. I am trying to stay calm and realize that this is who I am. Two babies shot out of me (not really, I'm not loosey goosey over here) and so I'm never going to look like I did when I was 22. I get that. It's all about self love, and not the rabbit vibrator kind. So that's what I'm going to try to do, love myself. Love the rolls, love the red bumps, love the stretch marks. But I refuse to love how my ass jiggles when I run. Because that shit hurts. Real talk.
***Stay tuned folks. One of these days I will be ballsy enough to post some bathing suit pics. I know, you are probably TOO excited, what with all the stretch mark and red bumps talk. Stay calm. Soon my lovelies, soon ;)