A and B.
The plan was to kick bathing suit o’ gold straight on back to its wholesome Midwestern land of origin the moment it arrived. Or actually, the original plan, after doing a rather alarming review of my finances a couple days ago, was to go online and cancel the order. So I went online, only to find a snappy email from that white-toothed, milk-fed clothing company: that my bathing suit had been shipped. All right, I said to myself. Fine. Here’s what I’ll do: March it right back to the p.o. the moment it gets here and proceed to Do the Right Thing.

This is for all of you who get bored reading stories about principled people who do the right thing.

Today, the suit was shipped to my workplace. As if in a movie, on my way out the door ten minutes later, unopened package-in-fricking-hand, I literally ran into a coworker. Like, “Ouch! Oh, sorry.” And she said when I told her where I was going, “But you’ll have that suit for years!” And to which added our receptionist, when she heard the sitch’, “It’s really an investment.” Co-worker #1: “Does it fit well?” Alice: “I haven’t even opened the package. And I’m not going t-” Coworker #1: “C’mon, let’s see it; let’s see it. Is it one of those tankinis? I love tankinis!”

Which resulted in, you guessed it, my opening the package, trying the suit on and realizing, to my partial dread: That it fits perfectly; that it makes me look really darn cute.

So. The plan has changed. Now it is to spend every living second at the beach this August, once I move to Beach Town for grad school. The second part requires your help. If you are my friend and have a swimming pool or an ocean or a lake or a pond or have access to any of the above, I want an invite from you. Now. Let’s hear it.