Happy Cinco de Mayo!

Naked Day, Ha.

I wish we could, in fact, have naked day. After two weekends of shopping, shopping for swimsuits and sandals and sunglasses and dresses and Bahama shorts and accessories, I am done with it. I hate that I can't tell what's a shirt or a skirt or a dress. I played this game with the boy. "Is this a shirt or a dress?" I'd ask him. He'd roll his eyes and wish he was anywhere else. But last week's trip to the Mall of America was his punishment. The last time I'd taken him shopping with me I was in need of a swimsuit. Something fun and flirty for the Mexico trip. After trying on a number of different two pieces he suggested that it just might be time for me to get a one piece. And I know for a fact that he hates one pieces, so I knew what it meant for him to say that. It meant that I had allowed myself too many trips to Chipotle over the long winter. That I had sampled too many of the cake recipes in the book I was editing. That I'd spent too many snow days scarfing down cheese enchiladas and Yu's take out. That it was time for me to do more than attend yoga once a week and serious consider taking the dogs for a walk and then deciding to park it on the couch. That having two jobs that both require me to sit for the majority of the day just makes it harder to not have a big ass. Which is impossible to hide in a swimsuit. So maybe I can just luck out and find a nude beach while in Mexico. Chances are I'd be surrounded by old guys with giant, pregnant bellies. Maybe that wouldn't be all bad.