Why is it that I always have to pee more often when I’m wearing a one-piece bathing suit?
Probably because it’s sucking in my fat so forcefully that my bladder cannot store even one 12 oz. poolside beverage for any length of time.
I know everyone else is just peeing in the water.
That dad in the Deep End, with the red solo cup, has been sitting in his inner tube for 3 hours.
Before you go calling Child Protective Services, you should know that I don’t condone swearing.
Ok, that’s not true.
I don’t condone swearing around children.
That’s what my blog is for. And no, I haven’t figured out what I’ll do once Colt is old enough to read this online (which will be like next week.)
As a child, I don’t remember my parents cursing.
Nothing makes you wanna kill yourself like shopping for a bathing suit.
Shortly after I had Colt, my mother convinced me to start shopping at Bealls Department Store. I guess she was implying that my days at Victoria’s Secret were over.
At Bealls, I found a cute coral one-piece that has been my go-to mommy suit for two years now.
But the elastic has dry-rotted, the seams are torn and the crotch is pilly.