Body Be Bangin
On a scale of least flattering garments, a wet suit is just above a crop top and just below a bridesmaid’s dress. Unfortunately, it’s a requirement when you go sea kayaking in San Diego.
Since you’ve never worn one before, you’re going to put on your wet suit and assume it’s supposed to turn your body into a sausage fighting to break free from its casing. You’re also going to assume that you need to lose three inches of thigh girth. One of these things is true.
After settling into your kayak, the wet suit will immediately cut off all neck circulation. You’ll panic, fumbling for the back zipper, your body fat uncoiling when you finally get it undone. What’s the point of the wet suit, anyway–it’s not like you’re going to be submerged in water.
Two minutes later, you are submerged in water. For reasons unknown to your instructor, you had what appeared to be a petit mal seizure, during which time your entire kayak flipped over. After surfacing from the freezing cold water, your fellow kayakers will laugh as you spend the next chunk of time struggling, Titanic-style, to get back into your kayak like Jack fighting for a spot on the damn driftwood.
Back at the surf shop, you finally remove the wet suit. It’s a more frustrating task than peeling a hard-boiled egg from its shell. And then you take a gander at the size–the one the ridiculously delusional employee gave you after assessing your body frame. It’s an extra small.
If you’re going to die from hypothermia, you may as well do it as a skinny bitch.