Beautifully HIS – Expressively HIS …

ADVENTURES IN DRESSING ROOMS

It’s June. We leave for a family beach vacation in one week. I ventured into my closet to try on the swimsuits that have hung there for a decade-plus. Old, dry, elastic shrieked as it stretched out, died, and refused to snap back. It’s definitely time to go (cue the screams) swimsuit shopping.

I’ve said for years that some wealthy, entrepreneurial woman needs to invent a women-only, swimsuit-only store with sizes from 0-6XL. This establishment would be frigid in the summer with fans in the dressing rooms, and house plentiful styles and shapes for every female body type. This retail shop would also house large, comfortable dressing rooms and numerous sales ladies who check on customers and run to fetch different sizes should the need arise. Did I mention the wine or champagne? Because that is complimentary, because every gal knows she doesn’t have the wits or temperament to try on swimsuits sober … much less sober and sweating. It’s too agonizing.

Alas, this magical place does not yet exist. So I ventured into a name-withheld store that felt like it was 80 degrees with humidity inside. After fighting for my life against over-crowded racks filled with tangled straps and hangers, I loaded my arms with swimsuits to try on and–after searching 3/4 of the large store for a lone employee–was told the one and only dressing room was on the side of the store opposite from the swimsuits, near the front. Sigh. I made the trek while desperately hoping one of the suits in my arms would fit, because once undressed, I was not re-dressing and traversing the entire store a second time to obtain a different size that may not even be on the racks.

I ventured into an available dressing room, emptied it of discarded clothes from the previous occupant, and went to work. First option, no dice … unless this year’s swim fashions call for a hobbit look.

Second option … maybe … ew ewww EWWW! It’s on my leg. It’s stuck to my leg. The HYGIENE LINER IS STUCK TO MY LEG! Get it off. Get.it.OFF! How? I don’t want to touch it with my hands. OMG it’s so gross. Flick it off. Now it’s stuck to my hand. Shake it. Shake it off.

Okay. Breathe. Well, this suit is a disaster now. Let’s try a third option.

AND IT HAPPENED AGAIN! What adhesive are they using on these hygiene liners … spit? Post-it note sticky stuff? GAH! Just make it stop. I’m completely disgusted. This can’t be healthy.

I give up. I’m going to a different store.

I’ll #wearthesuit, if I can ever #findthesuit. I am #beuatifullyandwonderfullymade, after all. But this process could be a lot more pleasant, if not downright pleasurable. Someone steal my genius ladies-swimsuit-store idea and make millions off of it. I don’t care for any credit, as long as you build one close to me so I can offer my patronage.

Beautifully His,

Nicki

For you created my inmost being;
    you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
    your works are wonderful,
    I know that full well.
My frame was not hidden from you
    when I was made in the secret place,
    when I was woven together in the depths of the earth.
Your eyes saw my unformed body;
    all the days ordained for me were written in your book
    before one of them came to be.

(Psalm 139:13-16 NIV)