I love to travel, but by body does not. Everything in my gut turns to concrete, all the water I drink hangs out in my face, hands, and feet, and my alcohol tolerance disappears. I look like a teenager half-assing an eating disorder at Kroger the week before I go anywhere with all the Diurex, biscodyl, and coconut water in my cart. AND they have to ID you for the Diurex. I’ve had more comfortable eye contact with the 15 year old guy who works the register at the CVS when I have to emergently buy a box of super absorbent tampons. But so help me God, if there is a photo to had, an occasion for a bathing suit, a night on the town, general walking, attempting to sleep comfortably…I will endure that eye contact.
This time around I’m taking more of a rustic/ domestic get-a-way. I’m busting out two night shifts, flying my ass to Brooklyn (probably sleep deprived and therefore cranky), taking a beat with my gorgeous cousin, then sleeping through an hour and a half drive to the Pocono Lake Preserve.
I am by no means call this a “camping trip” or even “glamping” (which honestly sounds worse. Who wants the added pressure of pretending to be comfortable and glamorous while camping). But we are staying in a lake house cabin thingy on a man made lake preserve, that rich people from New York made into a private summer retreat 100 years ago. This is some kind of bougie version of something I don’t even do the regular version of.
There will be heat, cold, mosquitos, physical activities, causes for me to be in a bathing suit. All nightmarish situations. Don’t start with the feminist a beach body is a body at the beach. I get it. Girl power. Whatever. My issue is not the way I look in a bathing suit, it’s the fact that I enjoying things like moving when in the water, and my butt can barely be contained in anything other than board shorts. I’m not saying I’m fat, just weirdly well endowed. So I’m trying to shop for a cute two piece come to find that something called the “itsy bitsy hipster” is the new kewl bikini bottom cut. WHO IS WEARING THIS? I’m trying to get my swim on, not hang out on a yacht in Miami with my meal ticket. It was literally all I could find this late in the summer beside swim skirts, and those things drag me down.
So with all the bloating, concrete gut, booty spilling bottoms, mosquito bites, and stuffy sinus from flying, this should be a pretty interesting weekend trip. I always have travel anxiety, and party anxiety, and seeing people after a long while anxiety. But I’ll take a take a deep breath and go with the weirdo flow.