An unfiltered fire hose of flaming condemnation

My uniform for the rest of the summer

While picking up some pool supplies at Kmart this morning I noticed a rack of swimsuits that were on sale. I only own one swimsuit, and since we’re in and out of the pool quite often I decided to pick up a new one. Because the feeling of putting on a wet swimsuit is at the top of the list of things I cannot stand about life, right there next to being required to wear shoes at Taco Bell, or that instead of growing hair under my arms I can’t just grow dollars.

So now I own a swimsuit. From Kmart. You just go ahead and try to comprehend how hot that is.

It looks exactly like you would expect a swimsuit from Kmart to look like, shapeless with a strange, abstract pattern all over, but the thing that is most noticeably lacking is breast support. Of any kind. There’s no built-in bra like the one that’s in my Victoria’s Secret bathing suit, one so magnificently padded that yesterday after a brief swim I held Leta in my lap to dry her off, and she started nudging my boobs with the back of her hand, first the left one, then the right one, like she couldn’t figure out what was going on. I finally asked her what she was doing, and she said, “You’ve got pillows.”

Like, you’re fooling no one, Mom.

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Heather B. Armstrong

Hi. I’m Heather B. Armstrong, and this used to be called mommy blogging. But then they started calling it Influencer Marketing: hashtag ad, hashtag sponsored, hashtag you know you want me to slap your product on my kid and exploit her for millions and millions of dollars. That’s how this shit works. Now? Well… sit back, buckle up, and enjoy the ride.

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