I confess that I have a little hope chest. Its tiny, really. I've gotten impatient and frustrated along the way at the flab, the belly, the cellulite and the lack of will and discipline I've had since the earthlings invaded my healthy world. So I've gotten rid of the clothes that I know I literally have a fat chance of ever squeezing into in the near or distant future. Don't throw me a pity party though, I love myself too much to hate my body. I think I know how to style myself so people can't tell that my gut is the size of my 5-month pregnant belly or that my gut, along with other midsection areas, spills over or that my flat ass is actually a fat jiggly one.
There are a few things in that hope chest that really get to me. Four things to be exact. The string bikinis. I look at those miniscule three triangles that in fact make up a bathing suit in shock. The key here is that I only look at them, never try them on. Then I glare at myself in the mirror and call myself out "You must have been fucking hot to have rocked these!"
That thought never fails makes me feel pretty damn good. Even if I know I will never wear a string bikini ever again.