Dan and I Buy Unlikely Items

I bought a bikini for the first time since the fourth grade. In fact, I bought two. Last summer, in "The Best Suit for This Apple," I wrote about the woes of swimsuit shopping and how I once again settled on a tankini because of my stomach cellulite and that I wouldn't buy a bikini, no way, no how.

But this summer was different. I was going to Hawaii, and because of this, I was probably more tuned into swimwear (and what was filling up that swimwear) than in years past. I began to notice that women of all shapes, sizes, and ages sported bikinis.

"I am not even forty yet. I should be allowed to wear a bikini even if my stomach looks curdled, and my skin is as white as polar bear fur (Lost reference alert)," I told myself.

And because I don't have the perfect body and because I am incapable of tanning, buying two bikinis was my way of taking a feminist stance against the societal norms that determine whether or not a woman should be allowed to wear a bikini.

While I was out buying my first bikini in twenty-seven years, my husband, Dan, was in deep conflict over whether or not he should buy his first pair of flip-flops in twenty-seven years. He had been wearing his sandals around town to get a "Teva tan" before heading to Hawaii. And though he wouldn't admit it, I think he secretly enjoyed not having to go through the production of putting on socks and basketball shoes every single morning.

He didn't resolve this conflict, however, until a few days into our Hawaii trip when he finally broke down a bought a pair of flip-flops. Most of us have been wearing flip-flops for a long time. I've been wearing flip-flops for so long that when I was a kid, we called them "thongs."

But for some reason, Dan—who has degrees in applied mathematics and computer science—couldn't figure out how to walk in them. It reminded me of the mini-schnauzer my family used to have. Anytime they would dress the dog in a sweater or a shirt—which was a lot because they were the kind of pet owners who loved to put their animals in clothes—she would waddle around on her front legs while dragging her back legs behind her.

Watching Dan walk in flip-flops was kind of like watching the family dog walk around in a sweater.

"What are you doing?" I asked as Dan scuffed his feet gingerly and slightly pigeon-toed along the walkway.

"It's weird walking in these things," he explained. "You have to kind of pinch your toes as you step. Don't you do that?"

"Maybe. I hadn't thought about it, but I'm pretty sure I don't look like that when I walk in flip-flops."

"If I don't pinch my toes, I'm afraid I'll do this." Dan kicked and sent his sandals flying off of his feet.

"Hmm. Well, we can't have that . . ."

We have been back on the mainland for about two weeks now. Dan hasn't worn his flip-flops or even his Tevas, and I haven't worn either of my bikinis since our return. I guess it seemed like a good idea at the time.

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