Jorts is such an ugly term. It conjures up visions of dads in white socks with velcro sandals, cell phones clipped to their belts, waiting in line for churros at a theme park.
Prior to this moment, I thought the only hiking I would ever do would come after a plane crash, stranding me with a group of strangers on a deserted jungle island. I actually think about this a lot, and I have a number of concerns.
If I could sum up my swimsuit aesthetic this year in one word, that word would be… boobs. And I love it.
It’s October 3rd, and you guys… it’s chilly. It’s foggy in the mornings and getting dark earlier and earlier, and my body is finally at operating level: PRAISE JESUS.
What goes better with a new hilarious fashion memoir than another Curvy Girl Makeover! *throws confetti in the air*
You know how Facebook does that creepy thing where it loads your sidebar with ads that appeal to you based on your browsing history?
Every March I headed outside in a brand new bathing suit so Andy could quickly snap a photo of me in the frigid wind, my feet burning on the frozen ground, my pale skin all prickled and bumpy; all in the name of swimsuit confidence.
And the streak continues! So yeah, if you’ve been following me through the years, you may already know of my complete aversion to standard store bought costumes.
“Complete honesty?” Andy asked, smooshed beside me in the closet. “Yup.” “I can’t wait until the whole diaper bottom thing is done.”