< by Jill >
This week, I’m mining through my home on a mission to let go of things that aren’t adding value to my life. It’s part of my “moving on” series, and I’m on day 2: swimsuit edition.
Item: Teeny tiny ruffled bikini
Year acquired: 2004
Current home: Shoebox under bed
Last use: Don’t remember (are you noticing a theme?)
Best use: Slingshot
Backstory: In the fall of 2003, I was dating a boy named Matt. He was cross-country captain; I was cross-country captain. It was the perfect high-school romance, a story pretold by generations of pizza-faced teens with letter jackets. Except… I didn’t like him. One fall day, he served me with a love letter — written in gold ink on vellum — announcing his (1) fear of rejection, (2) insuppressible feelings for me, and (3) now-effective status as my boyfriend. Afterward, he lit the gossip fuse and Mounds View High School exploded with news that we were now, in his words, “offish” [official].
I begrudgingly assumed my position as girlfriend. I figured it would run its course. But then our moms became friends, and soon, rumors of a family spring-break vacation manifested. Tickets were purchased; hotels booked. We were Spain-bound in six months.
The relationship ended in November, but like I said: tickets were purchased; hotels booked. By the time spring break arrived, Matt and I had mutually, non-verbally agreed to ignore one another’s existence. I spent the trip with my mom, and he did likewise.
It was during this drizzly, 50-degree vacation in Valencia, Spain that I acquired the teeny tiny ruffled bikini. It was an aspirational purchase — I bought it with sunny weather and singleness in mind. I took it home, tucked it into my sock drawer, and waited for the weather to change. And when it did, I slipped it on and enjoyed a string of sunny, single days (stories for another time ;) ).
