Dear Bikini,

It’s not you, it’s me.

With a heavy heart, I must part ways with you, maybe for good. You might assume that it's because of my endless snacking or my lack of regular exercise, both of which have inadvertently transformed me from a pear to a blueberry.

Another issue: My skin frys quicker than an egg on an Arizona sidewalk in July.

Like I said, it’s not you, it’s me.

Last week, I ventured up four flights of stairs to a waterslide and had to catch my breath before I could keep up with my six-year-old daughter. I sat at the top, watched for the signal from the water park attendant, then zipped down the slide, picking up speed.

My hands shot into the air as I yelled, “Wheee!” Within seconds, I’d been tossed off the slide like a sack of diapers. Tumbling through the water, I realized that my tatas felt free. Like being a teenager again.

Where did you go, bikini?

I ducked under the water to search for you, knowing that my daughter or a stranger would be slushing down the slide behind me. Do you know how hard that kind of pressure is?

I just can’t risk another wardrobe malfunction, especially on vacation with my family. There will be plenty of time to embarrass my daughters in the future.

I’m breaking up with you.

Goodbye,

A mama who found a sexy one piece

*Image by Steven Arnold from Pixabay