Bikini Blues

I am working this week in sunny Southern California.

My kids are at camp. (I keep thinking I will get a call from camp that one of the kids has the swine flu. Or that one of them smells like a swine. I paid $475 per kid, they can deal with the smell.)

My husband is at work.

I’ve never been to this area of California. It’s really beautiful.

I’m starting to feel like one of the rich and famous while I drive around in my rented white Toyota Camry. I wanted to rent a Bentley. But, I thought that might raise some eyebrows on my expense report and Avis doesn’t keep a huge supply of them in stock so I settled for the white Camry.

I keep looking for Brad Pitt but he must not be looking for me because I cannot find the man, or his entourage, anywhere. Come on Brad, I’m not that hard to locate in that car!

So, over the last 10 months or so I’ve lost some weight, like about 55 pounds, give or take, I have about 5 more to go.

Before I came to LA, my husband was kind enough to buy me before I left, of all things:

Like I will be wearing a bikini at all!

My stomach has not seen sunlight since I lived in Waikiki in the 3rd grade.

Wearing a bikini might result in third degree burns, and I am certain Brad Pitt isn’t gonna come running in movie slow motion, at the sight of me in a bikini, and my plans of locating him would be dashed. A bikini does not an Angelina Jolie maketh.

Nevertheless, I brought it along, thinking, well, ‘what have I got to lose?’

I am at a Hilton with like 25+ floors in southern California.

I drag out that bikini, dreading it but thinking, no one here will ever see me again, what the heck? You never know. Maybe Brad stays at the Hilton with Angelina and the kids and they’ve just kept them hidden on another floor and we’ll all go swimming at the exact same moment?

Off come the tags, on goes the bikini and I am amazed. It fits.

My husband was smart enough to pick out a suit that meets in the middle and it hides the proof that I’ve given birth three times. And he picked the right size as well? Scary.

But, I stood there looking in the mirror thinking, wow, 39.999999 years old and I am on a work trip, no kids and no husband.

And I am wearing a bikini for the first time in 25+ years. And it fits like half way decently.

Now I’m really excited. Where’s the pool. Forget the pool. Where’s Brad. Or Tom. Or some papparazzi? Okay fine, where’s the bellboy at this point?

I call the front desk cause now I’m excited to go show off my new bod, in my new swim wear, on a work trip:

‘Yes, what floor is the pool on?’

‘Sorry ma’am, we don’t have a pool at this facility.’

‘No ma’am, not at this facility.’

Now what am I supposed to do? I am finally brave enough to wear this thing and there is no pool?

I consider the alternatives…

I could go down and ask for my white Camry from the valet in the bikini? I’m sure I’ll have my car in record time.

I could go down to happy hour which is still going on and order a drink?

I could go sit in the lobby and act like I’m waiting on a visitor?

Well, no pool. And I’m not about to get in the Camry and try to find a beach.

So, I stood there and looked in the mirror and just reveled in the fact that the Target bikini fit, and it fit just fine and realized that I’ve waited many, many years to wear this as opposed to a flowered one piece with an enourmous Mickey Mouse t-shirt on top.

No one was here to see it but me, but it’s okay. When I get home I can guarantee you I will find a pool.

In the meantime, maybe I will order room service?

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