Miracle

When I first walked into the building, ominous music played as if I were entering a horror film.

Like Clarice, I could hear the lambs screaming.

BAAAAHH!

Wait, no, that was me.

“Can I help you?” Brittany, the sales clerk, asked.

It would help if I were 30 years younger and 10 pounds lighter, but Brittany didn’t appear to be a wizard.

“I’m fine,” I said, searching through a sea of suits.

Next to the aquatic swim skirts was a row of skimpy bikinis.

“Is this the womens or the juniors?” I asked.

“Both,” Brittany beamed. “We’ve combined them for more choices.”

Normally I’m all for integration, but NOT when it comes to swimsuits. Bathing suit shopping is torturous enough without visual reminders of what you will never wear again.

Segregate the suits, Brittany.

Twenty minutes later, I headed to the dressing room.

How many did I try on?

20? 30? 1,000?

It’s a numbers game.

A few were horrific, like the one that had horizontal straps all the way up the sides.

Newsflash: I do not look good in Venetian blinds.

The pile of nylon carnage grew.

Just as I was about to give up hope, something encouraging happened… the blue suit with ruffles in all the right places was…

I don’t want to brag, but…

Not offensive.

Unfortunately, I made the mistake of leaving the security of the dimly lit dressing room to check it out in the full length hallway mirror.

BRIGHT LIGHTS! 

BACK FAT! 

BAAAAHH!

I raced back to the safety of my dressing room.

It’s okay, I reassured myself, It’s not like I’d be seen under bright lights in real life.

But then, I recalled the sun.

As I took my Walk of Shame to select some more sad suits, Brittany popped up behind a counter.

She was a stealthy little sales clerk.

“Can I get you anything?” Brittany asked.

I doubted Brittany had my youth behind that counter, so I shook my head.

I dragged my feet, meandering through the endless forest of bathing suits, and then…

Suddenly…

The heavens opened, the angels sang, and a rack of bathing suits with a sign advertising that I would look “10 pounds lighter in 10 minutes” appeared.

I had discovered the holy grail of bathing suits.

THE MIRACLE SUIT!

The tag on the suit showed a smiling woman, pleased with her Miracle Suit purchase. And although I didn’t know this woman, she appeared honest and, more importantly, 10 pounds lighter.

I selected an array of these magical suits and practically skipped back to the dressing room.

I tried on a purple flowery number, and…

Abra-frickin’-cadabra! 

Lumps, bumps and 10 pounds had vanished! 

I twirled, trying to see where it all was hiding.

My elbows? My toes? My earlobes?

Who cares!

It was a swimsuit miracle!

At the counter, Brittany rang up the suit and an amount appeared on the cash register.

BAAAAHH!

I guess miracles weren’t cheap.

At home I tried on my suit for my oldest daughter Quincey.

“That magic suit looks really good on you,” she said.

Then, she took a look at the price tag. “Wow, that’s pricey.” 

I nodded, not able to respond.

This suit was not designed for talking and wearing.

“You know, ”Quincey added, “it probably would have been easier to just lose 10 pounds.”

I wanted to respond to her snarky comment, but “I…uh…uh… uh…” was all I could utter.

And then it finally dawned on me where those 10 pounds went. 

They had been sucked internally and were currently crushing vital organs.

I took a look at myself in the mirror.

Totally worth it.