And This Relates How?

Oh, My Eye!
Okay. A few weeks ago I made a comment about the Miraclesuit which is a swimsuit that is supposed to enhance, camouflage and otherwise improve your figure while wearing it. I must admit now that the only research I was going on was about 25 years of swimsuit trying on torture and not actual investigation. I say this because about 2 weeks after I wrote the blog two things happened. One, I bought “O” magazine because it had a swimsuit-for every-body article in it and I wanted to see what Oprah had to say about it (I think she is a reasonable person, not a size 2 and well, I love her) and I received a Nordstom catalog with about 5 pages of Mirclesuits in it.

So, I read the article in “O” and was impressed that they actually had real people with real bodies (i.e. not perfect) and they really did look better in the suits chosen for them. It’s hard to tell when skinny models are wearing the suits because they look the same in everything, but here you could tell that yes, her thighs really do look better. So, okay, my hope has been restored.

Next, I look through the Nordstrom catalog. There they are. The Mirclesuits. And they are cute. But they’re expensive. Then I think of the three suits in my drawer that were half the price. I hate them. Try not to wear them, so really where’s the bargain? Besides, if it isn’t significantly better I can send it back because Nordstrom is the best store ever and returning stuff is simple, even through the mail. And taking a clue from Stacey and Clinton (from What Not to Wear, I love them, too. I wish they could come live in my closet) I choose a suit I previously would have never chosen. Wide straps for my broad shoulders (I don’t know why the hell I’ve been so worried about tan lines. I don’t spend that much time in the sun anymore and I don’t wear clothes that show my shoulders anymore. Ah, some attitudes die sloooow.) and a plunging neckline because, well, the girls are still pretty great (with some support) and I thought the cleavage would detract from the stomach.

I order it, it comes. I try it on the second it arrives even though I’m trying to get ready to leave the house. It takes quite some effort to get it on contradicting the tag that says “Lose 10 pounds in 10 seconds!” So I wiggle and pull and grunt and sweat. Nice. Some of the seams sound like they are popping and I think I may have ordered the wrong size. But then I get it on and wow!

The wider straps and cleavage thing is working and the quadruple strenth lycra (apparently that was the popping sound. Not to worry) has got my belly under control and it does double duty by not allowing the suit to crawl up and expose my rear end. And it's comfortable.

But best of all, I am so hot. Truly.

My sincerest apologies to Mirclesuit. There really is a suit for every body.

Lost in Landscaption
Generally I’m the finder of stuff. In the winter time. In the house. But for some reason, in the summer, in the yard, I’m a big giant loser. And not in the “I’m not a winner” sense but in the “one who loses things” sense. Last year I lost the dandelion-digger somewhere in the yard and apparently it created a giant vacuum in the universe that sucked in all the dandelion-diggers in the world because I haven’t been able to find a replacement. This weekend I lost the scissors twice, the tape measure and the hand spade. I misplaced my gloves about 100 times and couldn’t find my hat. Of course I found every other hat I own but not the one I wanted.

In comes my husband crowing like a rooster (Did I really just say that? I did, but that’s what he sounded like), dancing some weird I-got-no-rhythm dance and grinning so wide I though his head would split in two. In his hand is my hat, the black one, the one I wanted and couldn’t find. He thinks he’s cool. He thinks he’s a stud. He thinks he’s the finder of stuff.

I tell him even the blind monkey finds the banana sometimes.

Later after I’ve lost the scissors for the second time (the first time I buried them under the landscaping plastic and was on my hands and knees feeling the plastic for them so I wouldn’t have to rip it all up. I’m sure I looked like a, uh, well, a blind monkey), I’d given up looking for them when my daughter holds them up in front of my face and says, “Look what I found?” Yes, this is the same child who will stare at the very thing she is looking for and say she can’t find it.

All this leads me to believe…

The Tide is Turning
My son can find things! He really can and he’s not even two yet (okay, he will be next Monday, but still, he can find things!). A couple of days ago he dumped everything out of his bed and then couldn’t find his bink (what he calls his pacifier). He lifted up every single blanket and stuffed animal until he found it. I got a little misty. I’m not alone! I’m not the sole finder of stuff!

Shortly after that he actually found something else. Right at his feet. That I was pointing to. He’s so far ahead of his dad and sister. Who knows? Maybe someday soon I can retire and he can be the official finder of stuff. I will say to him, “Where are my shoes?” and he’ll know just where they are. And as official finder of stuff, he’ll take on his dad and sister as apprentices (since they are showing some aptitude).

You know, this all happened since I got that swimsuit.
Well, I’ll be, it really is a Miracle…