Thanks JCP!

Per my Facebook status this morning, I've been trying in vain to find a new bathing suit. Enter the same feelings of dread and anxiety that come with trying on jeans (why is denim so unforgiving?!) Let's not forget I've now had two children, so anything made of spandex material is going to want to cling even tighter. But anyways.... here's my experience with the hunt for a bathing suit:

1. They're expensive. It's amazing how much a bathing suit can cost considering they cover so little skin. Thankfully I'm not in the market for a bikini which would make it even more of an injustice.
2.  Most one pieces/tankinis seem to have a weird fit. All the material seems to want to congregate in the middle of my torso which makes me look squat. One pieces in particular seem to just cover skin rather than lift and shape things. It's like they decided that "Anyone buying a one piece these days has probably given up on trying to look nice in a bathing suit, so let's just throw some fabric on a couple of spaghetti straps and call it a day."
3. The fabric prints for bikinis are always fun and diverse. The prints for one pieces and tankinis are all pretty generic and unexciting, at least for my taste (such as these or these). 

Before I go any further, let me just point out that I do have a bathing suit. I have a few bikinis (now in retirement) as well as  a black one piece that I've had for years. Did you hear me? A plain, no frills, literally up to my neck black one piece. Sure, it's modest (which is what I'm going for). It's the epitome of modest (unless you want to compare it to these bad boys from the 1920s):

But the thought of wearing that old, worn out black bathing suit at the cottage this summer was just ... no. It needed to be put into retirement with the bikinis. So after looking online and trying some on at Target, and Marshall's and who knows where else, I finally brought Tim with me in hopes he would bring me some good luck (in the non-supersitious sense). Last time I shopped for jeans with him, I swear the first pair I tried on fit perfectly. THAT NEVER HAPPENS. So I thought his presence might have a similar effect today. And BAM it totally did. We're at JCP (whose new prices are just so great for us poor folk) and it's the best selection I've found so far and lit-er-ally the last bathing suit I grab to bring into the changing room ends up being the one. And the print is so me! Check it out!

I love things with little cherries on it. But little strawberries? Yes please, even cuter. The fit is amazing and totally flattering. The bottoms were a little skimpy, so I matched the top with this pinky-orangey bottom instead and it's just... so perfect. I mean, I love this bathing suit. And that NEVER HAPPENS. I haven't loved a bathing suit since the one I had when I was six that had a little cream soda on the front with a straw and gem-encrusted sprinkles. OH, and did I mention the price?! $25 folks. Incredible considering the average price of a tankini is $50.

How great is that?
Pretty great I think.
I mean, in the world of bathing suit shopping

THIS NEVER HAPPENS! 

Thanks JCP. I heart you.

My Crocs.

For my birthday this year my parents offered to buy me a pair of Crocs - a style of shoe that I've always thought should be worn by a garden gnome or at best while watering the garden with a garden hose. Essentially, that they should be kept to the confines of garden-themed things. This is in reference to the "original" Croc, which has a clog-like appearance.

So when I was faced with the option of choosing my very own pair, I was a bit skeptical. I knew of their rave reviews for comfort and the larger selection of styles that now existed. But they still seemed so ... "googily" in my head (as in things that are round and bulbous and squishy). Nevertheless, I had to admit that I kind of liked the idea of having a pair of my own to clomp around in (you can't really walk in a shoe that large so much as you can clomp). Upon entering the Croc store (yes, they even have a whole store dedicated to just Crocs) I was overwhelmed by the options. Everywhere I looked there were googily shoes and googily boots. I eventually focused on the flats and then I saw them. The Croc equivalent of a jelly shoe.

If you're a girl who grew up in the late 80s early 90s you'll know what a jelly shoe is. I can still remember the first time I laid eyes on them. It was in the locker room after swimming lessons. We still lived in Canada so I can't have been more than four, but I remember seeing another little girl putting her jelly shoes on after class and asking my mom if I could get a pair. "No, they're made of plastic."

That was always the barrier between me and shoes - that they were "man made" as my mom called it. Man made meant anything other than leather, and leather shoes they must be or no shoes at all.I know this came down to a matter of quality over style (and rightly so), but the seed of want for those jelly shoes was planted nonetheless. It would be over two decades before I was given the golden opportunity to place on my feet those precious replicas; replicas which would be suggested, approved and paid for than none other than my leather shoe-loving mother, God bless her.