I remember it like my Spice Girls themed birthday party. The day my eyes laid sight on this brilliantly crafted suit. A friends spring break photo dawned the perfect cream lace bottoms worn high to her waist.
So as my manly mans family reunion came near there was only one thing I could do to shape up:
"A high waisted will highlight my skinny parts and be modest for the fam."
Sauntering my so eager into American Apparel, the place that held the original high waisted, it seemed my journey was soon to reach a triumphant end.
WRONG! I'm not sure what happened in the mix of Lycra and Nylon, but this suit was made to make you cry, not to hold in your little flabby secrets.
Those ever annoying love handles had relocated to my waist. The cut was not high enough and not low enough all at the same time. And modest was out the window, unless the parents I had hopes to impress liked ass cheeks all over their white tees...
With grief in my heart, and tears in my eyes, I slowly clipped the garment back on its hanger and sauntered past life sized ad photos of girls who could pull off the tasteful trend. They actually had up a huge poster of models in every color high-waisted bathing suit. In silence I prayed "Let there be Photoshop on these images, let there be so much Photoshop."
My friends, this is a time deemed shambles.
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