Swimsuit Shopping At Forty-Something

I had to shop for a new swimsuit this week. I finally decided to take the plunge (pun completely intended) upon discovering my current swimsuit had worn threadbare across my entire butt. Of course, I didn't notice until AFTER I had been swimming in public with my impressionable little nephews.

The last time I went swimsuit shopping, I was headed to Hawaii. The time before that it was out of necessity—I had allowed my suit to wear so thin, it would have been inappropriate even by European beach standards.

What made this suit-buying experience different is that I am in forties now. That's right. I bought a swimsuit for the first time as a forty-one-year-old.

I waited until after my period (sorry to get graphic, guys; but ladies, you know what I mean) and hit the store.

The suit bottoms had all sorts of cutesy names to indicate fit—I blame Millennials—most of which I had to Google. One could choose from cheeky, hipster, extra cheeky, ruffle cheeky, shortie, string, skirt, high waist, etc.

I was overwhelmed with options, and none of the tops and bottoms were matched up on the sales racks. I spent an hour grabbing every size and style I could find.

There was a line to the fitting rooms. It was Father's Day, and I glared at all of the people in line ahead of me, judging them for not being at home celebrating with their dads.

Every time a door creaked open, we all looked up expectantly from our phones.

When I was next in line, a blonde woman exited one of the rooms and announced, "I'm not done. I just have to grab more stuff."

"That's fine," I thought. "You just made it into my blog, ha ha ha!" (I may have been a little hungry. Hence, the evil laugh in my head.)

When I arrived at a dressing room, I took a really long time, partly out of spite for all of the other people who made me wait and partly out of the amount suits I had brought in with me to try on.

Cheeky is awful, by the way. I said "no" to cheeky. Ruffle cheeky sounds cute, but it's the devil.

Also, the stores have signs posted everywhere about trying on swimwear with underwear, but let's be honest. You can't really tell how those suits fit until they are against your naked body. I did my best determining how the suit would fit with my panties and bra bulging out the sides.

When I came out of the fitting room, the twelve-year-old working the counter glanced in surprise at the humongous pile of suits in my hands and said, "Just hang those over there," with an air that indicated she didn't want to deal with my middle-aged selections yet.

I outlasted the crowd waiting for the dressing rooms. The shopping trip took me two hours.

But I did make a decision . . .

It might be kind of old womanish, but it's strapless, so . . .

The cashier rang up my purchase and nodded at me with sympathy, as though she knew my plight.

"Did you get something cute?" my husband, Dan, asked when I returned home.

"That sucked!" was my response.

I found Dan standing at the dresser drawer, examining his own swimming trunks.

"I think the elastic on these shorts is going out," he observed.

"You should get a new pair, preferably before these fall off in the pool," I said. "I'm sure buying a new suit won't be a traumatic experience for you" (like it was for me).

#thestruggleisreal

For the latest blog updates, visit and "like" Rebecca Turner-Duggan.

The Toilet Paper Holder: A Story for Father's Day

A few months ago, my husband, Dan, and I helped my brother and his family move into their new house. They moved to the same town where my dad and stepmother live. We spent the morning one weekend moving items into their new garage and house. We had just finished emptying the U-Haul when my dad handed me a toilet paper holder.

"Where does this go?" I asked my sister-in-law.

"That's not ours. Your dad has been trying to leave it in our house all morning," she said. "He probably grabbed it from their garage on accident when we were loading the truck."

(My brother and sister-in-law had stored some of their stuff in my parents' garage while waiting for their house to become available.)

I went back to my dad and told him what my sister-in-law had said.

"I know it's not theirs. I'm giving it to them," he said, "if they want it."

"Where did you get it?"

"From our garage. I just found it in there, and we already have one."

"Are you sure the person who bought it wants you to give it away?" I asked.

"Sure," he said. "No one is using it. I don't know where it came from."

I went back into the house and relayed the message to my sister-in-law.

"I think he's trying to get rid of it," I said.

Then we doubled over with laughter at the mental image of my dad wandering around, carrying the toilet paper holder through the front lawn and the house all morning.

My dad and Dan walked in and found us cracking up, the toilet paper holder still in my arms.

"It's a housewarming gift," my dad explained.

We laughed even harder.

"I'm surprised you don't want it," Dan said to me. "You're always setting extra rolls of toilet paper on the tank."

I stopped laughing. He was right. This holder would allow me to keep up to three extra rolls of toilet paper in the bathroom!

"Dad, can I have the toilet paper holder?" I asked

"Becky likes to be organized," Dan said with a smirk at my dad.

Now it was my dad's turn to laugh at me, "You take it back! This was a good gift after all!"

So . . . I own the toilet paper holder now. I can discreetly store up to three extra rolls of toilet paper in the bathroom.

I just hope whoever bought it in the first place doesn't read this and realize for the first time it's missing from their garage.

For the latest blog updates, visit and "like" Rebecca Turner-Duggan.

Two Birthday Weekends in a Row

Last year when I turned forty, it was such a milestone that I wrote a four-part series about it. This year, I turned forty-one, a pretty anticlimactic age if you ask me. Nobody writes advice columns or songs or movies about turning forty-one. Life just thrusts you into the forty-something category against your will, and suddenly you're diving headfirst toward middle age like a torpedo. That is, until your head hits the concrete at the bottom of the pool.

I'm only kidding. 😃

I enjoyed my forty-first birthday. I celebrated it for two weekends in a row. It reminded me of one of my favorite books when I was a child, Raggedy Ann and Andy: Five Birthday Parties in a Row. (On eBay, it's being sold as a "vintage" book, copyright 1979. Torpedoes away!)

Over Memorial Day weekend, my family came into town to go to the zoo and Chuck E. Cheese's. They surprised me with a cake and gifts even though my birthday was still a week away.

My husband, Dan, and I also went to Sun Valley that weekend and stayed at the newly renovated Lodge, another birthday surprise since he had led me to believe there were no rooms available.

"Wait, isn't that where you need to turn?" I asked as we passed the Best Western in Ketchum.

He glanced at me sideways and stayed silent. He was obviously pleased with himself.

The following weekend, we went on my "birthday date." We ate at The Melting Pot and saw the new Melissa McCarthy movie. Dan got me the Amelia Earhart doll from Barbie's new Inspiring Women Series and the reissued Liz Phair album, gifts fit for the youthful gal that I am.

On my actual birthday, I listened to Liz Phair while I ran on the Greenbelt and thought, "This forty-one-year-old is hip and happening."

I also met some teacher friends for lunch on, but not because of, my birthday and had an excuse to dress up and get out of my yoga pants.

Ah, yoga pants. I can already tell that yoga pants are a precious commodity as I enter my forties.

For the latest blog updates, visit and "like" Rebecca Turner-Duggan.

Turning 40, Part 2: #birthdayweekend (RE-POST from 6/10/17)

Last year, I wrote a four-part series on turning forty. This year, between end-of-the-school-year activities, pretending to be sexy in the theater production of Chicago, and celebrating my birthday for two weekends in a row, I haven't updated my blog for two weeks. Plus turning forty-one is not as cool as turning forty. Don't worry. I will be back with brand new post next week. Until then, here is a rerun of my #birthdayweekend from last year. 

I have posted a lot about my birthday since starting this blog. A year ago, I wrote, "Our Last Year of Our Thirties," and after tracking down several other birthday-related articles I had written about turning thirty (it doesn't seem like that long ago, but nobody hints that I should have kids anymore) and birthday playlists, I realized I needed a pretty monumental turning forty entry.

That's why my big 4-0 won't be a one-time reading experience. I will be blogging about it four times!

That's right! My fortieth birthday just turned into a four-part series, friends.

If you are one of my astute readers, you might remember I wrote part one when my husband, Dan, turned forty. Technically, you only have to sit through three more of these things.

My birthday fell on a Monday this year, so the festivities began that weekend. #birthdayweekend

I am not a wild woman or a partyer. I wanted a simple celebration.

I wanted to see the movie, Wonder Woman.

My Wonder Woman pose . . .

I wanted to drink one glass of wine with dinner and eat good food that I didn't have to cook.

I wanted a new pair ear buds because my old ones were falling apart.

This mystery box included a brand new pair of ear buds.

I wanted to go out for coffee and read.

And I wanted to attend to the theater.

Here we are at the Idaho Shakespeare Festival, ready to see Hamlet.

My parents also visited Boise during my #birthdayweekend and took me out for brunch.

Remembering the Milk of Magnesia hat and toilet targets that were part of Dan's birthday party in April, I told my dad, "If we are celebrating in public, you can't do anything embarrassing!"

They were on their best behavior.

Fortieth birthday pics at Freak Alley in Boise

At lunchtime on Monday (my actual birthday), Dan surprised me with cupcakes.

The day after my birthday, I went trail running, and on my second loop, I ran by an older gentleman whom I had passed earlier.

"You got around there fast!" he said.

"Thanks!" I yelled back at him. "My fortieth birthday was yesterday,​ and I am running this whole thing. Life goals!"

"I ran seven miles on my seventieth birthday. Keep it up!"

Turning 40 was not so bad after all.

Now that you have read and loved part two, feel free to revisit:
Turning 40, Part 1: Dan Is 40 Now

Still to come next week:
Turning 40, Part 3: I Am 40 Now

And the week after:
Turning 40, Part 4: Hangin' at the DMV

For the latest blog updates, visit and "like" Rebecca Turner-Duggan.