Dear Bikini...


Dear Bikini,

Now that summer is here, I think it's time we set some ground rules.

Our relationship is still new - we're in the crush phase. I'm not angry at or resentful of you yet. I mean, we didn't even get together 'til that Memorial Day sale. But if our commitment is gonna last the entire season - from trips to California and Colorado and my passive aggressive sister-in-law's pool - I need you to hold up your end of the bargain. You promised. And, you cost a fortune. So here goes, my list of rules:

1. When I force myself to flip over to even out my tan, surreptitiously glancing down at the book I'm not really reading and won't all summer so I can check that your top parts haven't slipped, I need you to stay in place on the rear side. Are you aware how unflattering it is to my midsection and neck areas to crane to see if you're behaving in back? I'm terrified of someone seeing my blinding-white bits, so I'm counting on you.

2. Lithely climbing out of the pool soaking wet, I have a lot on my mind - arm contouring, appearing to casually grab my towel when I'm panicking inside, my nostrils, and so on. You've got one job: no unflattering bubble in my bikini bottom. Because what's the point of pretending to have the confidence of a Perfect 10 if you're gonna add 15 pounds to my backside?

3. You are not permitted to shrink. Even if I get larger, you must grow with me.

4. Do not pill. Fade not. I promise to give you breaks. I'll rinse you in the shower after a day of too much chlorine. Although your label suggests it, I won't launder you by hand but I will change into undies when my girlfriends and I spend eight after-sun hours drinking wine and analyzing which Kardashian sister is affected most by the recent events. I'll hang you properly so I won't have to pick you up from the floor and put you on damp the next morning. (Because we both hate that.) I'll protect you, but you've got do the same for me. No one likes a quitter.

5. If I'm active, stay in place. At some point I might actually rise from this chaise. To participate in an impromptu game of volleyball. Or pee. You're forbidden to pop off my neck. One summer a clever little suit came unfastened in the back when I had done nothing all day but sit motionless waiting for mojitos to be delivered. I left it in the Viceroy's trash can.

6. Don't punish me for eating lunch. I chose you because you had seamless bottoms, which cost more. So do your part. Absolutely no hip separation. No muffin top exacerbation. If you think that sounds a lot to ask, remember that I'm the one working overtime getting us all these pool party asks and weekend invitations. Actually, if I think about it, what have you done for me lately?

Ok that was harsh. I'm sorry. I still love you. Let's work together and we'll make it the best summer ever. Flatter me on Instagram and I'll sing your praises when people inquire about your geometric print and faux leather-lined cups. Stay tied and our bond will not break. Hook me up and I promise I won't unhook you for good.