Swimmingly

Lately, there's been only one thing on my mind. It's been taunting me, calling me. Just the idea of it is enough to get me through the long summer days and dry air conditioning of the office. Once or twice a week after I get home from work, I step in the house and sigh in relief. It's time to go swimming.

Of course, my love of the cool water isn't enough to keep me from whining, complaining and sighing heavily when getting in. The hardest part of swimming isn't moving throughout the water, it's initially getting wet. Even when it's over 100 degrees outside, diving in that water can still be a shock. A shock that for some reason I try to minimize by dragging out as long as possible. Don't ask me to explain--I never said I was logical.

My favorite thing about summer is being able to dive into the pool anytime I wish--hot afternoons, warm evenings with the sun setting in the sky and even the mild humid mornings. I even researched floatable laptop stands and waterproof laptops, hoping I could set up shop in the pool. So far, no luck.

So with such a wonderful place to relax, I should be sliding into the pool every night. Here's the problem: I only have two swimsuits, and I despise washing them.

"Excuse me!" the Invisible Friends shout. "Duh, it's not that hard to wash a swimsuit. Get over it."

Fine, I'll admit it. I just want a new bikini. Yes, the dreaded bikini, the clothing most women run shrieking from. And it's for good reason--very few women look good in bikinis.

"Excuse me!" the Invisible Friends shout. "You're a size 6! You make us sick! Go have three babies and try to wear a bikini! You think you have cellulite now--just wait!"

Well, that is true, I have to admit. I am in good shape and have a good figure. And I still don't look good in most bikinis. Let's just say the term udders comes to mind when I check out most top selections. According to T.V., magazines, and dozens of fashion designers, finding a bikini guaranteed to lift, separate and flatter shouldn't be hard. These people live in a bigger bubble than I ever thought of creating. If you flatter your chest, you don't do justice to your rear. If you flatter your real, your chest is flopping everywhere like a dead fish. And don't even get me started on thongs.

The real reason we should hate bikinis is because the French invented them. The same people that invented tasty little treats like French Fries, French Toasts, quiches, dozens of tarts and pastries, certain cakes and quiche wants us all to wear a creation essentially made out of shoe string and a kleenex. Yet--we should still be able to indulge and eat like the French, focusing on quality versus quality. Excuse me, 1 piece of French Toast is not quality, it's a tease. I need two or three before I'm happy. Don't even get me started on quiches--my cholesterol is trembling in fear at the mention of them.

However, there is a way to escape the self-indulgent and insecure world of fashion. It's called swimming. After one dip into that cool oasis of water as you slowly glide through, and you don't care if you're wearing a wet suit or a bikini. You just care about the water gliding over your muscles as you swim across the bottom of the pool like a frog. A pool is a very relaxing thing. I've got to go--it's calling me.