Bathing suit 2.0

My bathing suit hath arrivedeth. And it is charming. And adorable. And good quality. And... too long! How could this be? Well, I know how it could be. I have the torso of a child dwarf, that's how it could be.

But! A saving grace! The red panel means easy alterations. Not for me, oh heaven's no. I can't sew worth a damn. I'm taking it in to the pros. But thar be a second problem with me sailor pinup suit, matey. And that be that me chest is flat as ye olde plank.

Well, not that flat, but flat enough. My bust lives in A town, close enough to B town to smell the flowers, but not enough to get a permanent address. Now, this suit is padded in the chest for modesty's sake. No free nipple flashes. No paid ones either, for the record. But there are no cups. Granted, I don't need the support, but I'm a young small chested woman and I am accustomed to being able to harness the powers of modern tailoring to lie to the general public about my body. No cups equals no shape. No shape means my girls flatten against me under the crushing weight of spandex.

So I have my work cut out for me, because this suit is too close to happiness and perfection for me to wear it as is. I'm going to Fabricland and buying some bust cups. Then I'm going to Stitch It to have the red panel shortened and the cups inserted. Conveniently these two establishments are five minutes from each other.

And then when it's finished there will be choirs of angels singing praise to my bathing suit. Mostly in my mind.

This will be an expensive item by the time I'm done. I so don't even care at this point.