Ugh. Gross.

This weekend is the weekend of broken hearts.

Who's doing the breaking? Me. To me.

It's time to try to find a swimsuit. Oh, god. I haven't had one in three years. Haven't had a use for one, really. And something about trying on bathing suits in a store under fluorescent lighting with the ink tags and the people waiting to use the dressing room and the tall, tan girls modeling in front of the mirror ... Uh, no thanks.

I'm not the girl who hates what she looks like, or pinches at her stomach in front of the mirror. Nah. I'm OK. It's just that no one -- not even (insert your favorite model or actress here) -- looks good under fluorescent lights. Ugh.

That, and I have unreasonable expectations. It must look cool. Be comfortable. Make me look tanner and taller than I am. Etc. Oh, and be inexpensive, too. Is that too much to ask? I don't want to end up coming home, saying "what's another year" and eating an entire pizza or something. Ha, ha.

Well, at least I have a sense of humor about it.