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I pulled off the highly improbable yesterday afternoon.

I had one hour to kill before my regularly scheduled second trip to Starbucks, so I decided to flit around* for a bit and walked into a nearby store.

Almost immediately something caught my eye--it was a conflagration of neon hues, metallic fringes and animal prints. It was an explosion of tie-die and polka-dots. It was (pause for dramatic effect) the bathing suit rack.

I'm not sure what came over me at that point. I paused, deliberating over my next step. Good god, woman, I thought. GET A HOLD OF YOURSELF! This is insane! This is Girl Scout Cookie Season! This is the tail end of winter in Ohio! You cannot cannot cannot try on bathing suits today.

Now, for the four males who are reading this blog in order to fully understand this situation, it should be duly noted that for most women preparing for bathing suit shopping is at least a one month affair (Spring training, if you will boys), which consists of a consistent regimen of exfoliation, self-tanner, non-starchy carbs, sugar deprivation, extended sessions on the treadmill, getting estates in order (explanation forthcoming) and prayers that 1. You shall not die from shock under those fluorescent lights obviously invented by a misogynist and 2. Shall it be God's will that you do in fact die from shock under those fluorescent lights, someone will throw a cover up or at least a towel around you before you reach the Gate. I mean, nothing like an ill-fitting bikini to put a damper on eternal bliss...

Like a woman possessed, I grabbed five contenders and bee-lined it to the dressing room before I had my wits about me again. After the fitting room attendant counted my items, she looked at me with that same kind of sympathetic I hear you sister expression women give each other in the waiting room of OBGYN offices around the world.

"I always order mine from a catalog," she said with a little laugh. "I hate crying in public."

I will admit that by the time I was in the dressing room, I was having doubts. So, I took a deep breath and uttered a little prayer for good measure. I actually shut my eyes as I slipped the suit on and repented for all the times I pinched my weasel brother when we were little, for putting Frisky--the neighbors' stupid cat--in the grill** when I was in fourth grade, oh and for that one time I took the abandoned STYLE section of the newspaper from Starbucks.

When I opened my eyes...SWEET LOLITA...it fit.

I took the suit off in 5 seconds flat and proceeded quickly to the register. Ladies--you hear me on this one. If the first swimsuit you try on is passable, you do not hesitate. You do not falter. You do not second guess. It does not matter that you don't have anywhere to wear this bathing suit until one of your more socially relevant friends (or parents) invites you to the Country Club in August when it has finally stopped snowing.

No, you whisper a little word of thanks and whip out your Amex. As you pay, you realize that not only are you buying swimming attire, you also are buying yourself the perfect day. Now, no matter what may come your way, you won't get too ruffled. It won't matter if you find out that your collision deductible (from that little run in with your garage) is $500. It won't matter if Ricky Martin is officially batting for the other team. It won't even matter if your skirt gets caught in that surprisingly powerful vacuum hose thingy while you are cleaning out your car in clear view of a steady stream of rush hour motorists on at least the second busiest road in your town.***

You win.

*flit around: (verb) to float in and out of various stores with no intention of purchasing anything while paradoxically knowing you eventually will. Modern day equivalent of "foraging and gathering," as in After thousands of years of picking berries and edible twigs, women have fine-tuned their ability to flit around for the day in search of nothing and something at the same time.

It should be noted here that women ought to take advantage of their primitive drive to shop. For like forever we were relegated to grassy meadows and the thorny underbrush while men were out having fun chasing deer and such. Now we have TJ Maxx and Nordstroms while the boys have the frozen food aisle and paintball.

** Settle down, the grill was not on.

***Yeah, true story.