I no longer have hair

I have pulled it all out.
because of two words:
.

.

SWIMSUIT SHOPPING

I spent two days and a ridiculous number of hours and gas mileage shoveling through piles of utterly revolting crap.

Like this:

And this:













I'd like to get a tankini, but because of the shape of my voluptuous body, if I ever bend over it's "HEY! CRACK KILLS!" plus the fact that I'm a little, er, well endowed up top, so those cute little halter-tops everyone wants nowadays (and they're on EVERY tankini known to womankind) leaves me spilling out.

So I figure, okay, how about a nice one-piece, right?

WRONG!

Apparently this is a "one-kini"

BARF!What is this world coming to???

I'm sick to death of horrible swimsuits! It's either string bikini, "crack kills," abomination number three, or this:

Um, excuse me, I'm not eighty.
I apologize if um, ahem, you have this swimsuit are are, in fact, not eighty either.








Top it all off with the fact that I'm trying to match a swimsuit to swimshorts I spent a fortune on last summer and I've got a really, really good reason to check myself into a loony bin with the self-diagnosis of mad cow disease.
.
.
.

So with a deep breath, a prayer, and sore feet, I finally went online at limericki.com and chose this little number. (Not without further online searching of course.)

In my opinion, it's very cute, I won't be spilling out the top, and they're supposed to be extra long to keep the plumber butt to a minimum.

And..... da da da DA! It matches my board shorts. Pretty much. Close enough. I'm done. Done DONE DONE!

All I have to worry about now is a weird tan line but at this point, I don't care if I have "vote Obama" sunburned into my skin. Okay, that might be going a little far. shudder.