Hating myself...

Or, to be more specific, hating myself for the thoughts that started cycling through my head about an hour ago in the dressing room at Paragon Sports.

After yesterday's abortive attempt to buy a new athletic bathing suit (i.e., not a string bikini), I went back this evening in hopes of finding something that will allow me to swim laps at the gym while I wait for my hamstring to stop its little rebellion. I was standing there in the dressing room, after trying on dozens of suits that, if they fit on the bottom were baggy on the top, and vice versa, looking at the leg seams of the umpteenth bathing suit cutting into the fat on my thighs and ass, and for the first time ever I thought to myself: "Damn, I really want liposuction."

Not in that whiny, half-joking way that we all do from time to time... but in an "I wonder if the end of the semester surplus from my student loans would cover it" kind of way. As in, I really, seriously, 100% meant it.

Me... Little Miss "Love Your Body! Nobody is Perfect! Societal Ideals Are Bullshit!" wants to surgically vaccuum the fat out of her thighs.

And I kinda hate myself for that.

I guess my penance is that I just spent 70 fucking dollars on a bathing suit that looks terrible... because there was no other alternative.

Blech.