Guest Post Sunday – The Naughty Corner of Social Niceties.

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I’m just going to say it: shopping for clothes is a horrible experience when you are a little on the festive side.

My beloved and I are heading off on a cruise soon, which is totally exciting and awesome… but the downside is that I’ve had to shop.

There used to be (and still is) a real movement in plus sized fashion where everything was geared towards older women. This is no fun when you’re a young(ish) lesbian who recoils physically at the sight of an embroidered horse on a hot pink batwing shirt. I could of course pursue the fashion trends, which have made themselves available in the plus size market: skinny jeans go all the way through to a size 26, as do those horrific denim undie shorts.

I ran into real dramas when it came time to buy swimmers.

Generally, I’m a tankini and board shorts person. But for some reason, I spotted a one piece that looked good. I threw judgement to the wind and bought it. At this stage, I broke my golden rule: always try clothes on before buying them.

I paid the price.

Oh god, did I pay.

I waited until I was home alone, and then sat on my bed. I pulled the swimmers out of their bag and nodded approvingly. I’d chosen well.  I stripped off and swiftly pulled on the swimmers.

It was when I couldn’t stand up that I realised something was wrong.

I was hunched, one boob squeezed out of the neckline, a wedgie of medical proportions and one leg bent up in a yoga position I’ve never dreamed of being able to achieve. What’s worse is that I was stuck. Stuck, and alone.

I let gravity tip me onto the bed, which is where I first tried the Hulk approach of trying to simply bust myself free from the swimsuit. It didn’t work. This is when panic set in. I wriggled and squirmed like a footy player does when he is trying to free himself from a tackle. My bed squeaked in protest, and the boob that was poking out of my neckline was making it hard to breathe.

At this point, I imagined the shock it would be for the person who discovered me, should I die in this position. My back was starting to hurt from being hunched over, and I was going to need surgical assistance to remove the nylon from my bottom.

The whole thing probably only lasted about three minutes, but it felt like a lifetime. I eventually freed myself, and was catching my breath when I became aware of a peculiar sensation between my legs.

The hygiene seal.

Oh god.

The hygiene seal.

Fuck!

If anything, friends, I have taken from this experience two things:

1. When you know that you’re a tankini and boardshorts girl, DO NOT STRAY.

2. The people who matter don’t see me as I see me. While we were shopping, my beloved asked me why I found it easier to shop without her there. I explained that I didn’t want her to notice that I needed to go to the plus sized section, because I didn’t want her to realise how fat I am. Her reply? “I’ve never noticed, baby.” 

She is so getting lucky on this cruise.

What is your preferred swimsuit situation?

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I am Kel. I live in the Naughty Corner.

Look, I can’t help it. Sometimes, life just makes me laugh. Sometimes I do things to life so that it makes me laugh. Whatever.

Visit her blog HERE.