Don't get me wrong, I love summer. And bikinis. And shopping. And any excuse to combine all three. But lately it's like...somewhere along the line, bikini shopping became less of a fun and exciting experience, and more of a covert mission to get in and out of the changing room as fast as possible without succumbing to the urge to kill myself. I don't know who decided that fluorescent lighting was the perfect choice for a room where women spend the majority of their time half naked and standing in front of a mirror, but I would love to find out.
Then, on top of the whole 'I'm-starting-to-resemble-some-sort-of-overweight-deep-sea-creature-and-these-dressing-room-lights-aren't-doing-anything-to-help-my-feelings-about-it' thing, they have GUYS milling around the store to help you choose. Which wouldn't be so bad. Except that the guys in the store I happened to choose all looked like this:
I mean, come on. Talk about a need to impress.
I'm kidding of course - there's only two men in my life I feel the need to impress; and since one of them is currently 4000km away and the other is a gay fictional character from a TV show that ended almost 3 years ago, I wasn't that worried about the dude trying to sell me a bikini. I'm just saying.