You may think you understand the definition of strength but I’m not betting on it. When you envision something that is powerful I bet you never thought of this item. Fear, power, and helplessness is wrapped up in this tiny piece of fabric and it’s not Kevlar the bullet proof vest, it’s the bathing suit.

This is the time of year that fear grips me. It’s the kind of adrenalin that is equivalent to getting a bounced check, a flat tire and a near miss car accident rolled up into one. My swimsuit from last year has bitten the proverbial dust and I must choose another.

I am grateful I am not a woman. I’ve seen the kind of angst choosing a bathing suit causes. How can such a small amount of pastel cloth bring the toughest woman to her knees in tears? Could it be that it’s like a passed failed relationship, it’s unforgiving?

In a bathing suit I am a pirate’s dream, I have a sunken chest. There is not a bathing suit that can make me look good unless I can don a burka. I have entered that stage in my life where if I wore a bathing suit high enough to cover my flaws, I’d have to have a fly so I could unzip it when I needed to blow my nose.

If you can imagine the Kool-Aid man in a Speedo, that would be me. On second thought, scratch that image less you burn your corneas thinking about it. So I enter the store and say to the salesman, I want something that will flatter my body type and make me look thinner.” He gave me a business card for a hypnotist.

I think looking for a bathing suit is like a clandestine secret mission. You’re going it alone and if you’re caught, everyone will disavow knowing you. After my arduous journey in finding the perfect bathing suit, I think I finally found something. When I asked the final salesman what I could purchase that would offer me full coverage, he sent me to the sporting goods section.

When you see me at the beach this summer, just rap on my tent flap. I’ll be inside sipping lemonade.