It's summer. You all know what that means ... swimsuit shopping.

Quick, grab the paper bag and breathe into it really slowly ... that's it ... in and out ...slow ... ahhhh. All better now.

Before actual said shopping begins, we must pour through all those women's magazine articles promising painless swimsuit shopping and declaring they've found the perfect swimsuit to fit "any" body. I know, ladies, I hear you and can commiserate. In unison: Give me a break! They haven't seen my body.

Next, we scan catalogues in the hopes of avoiding actual said shopping and find that the catalogue companies allegedly have a suit to hide every kind of flaw: small bust, big butt, thick waist, heavy thighs, short or tall, etc. That begs the question: do I have to pick just one?

Exasperated, shopping becomes inescapable.

We all dread that inevitable afternoon of viewing all our imperfections under florescent lighting while trying to find the perfect swimsuit ... or at least the one that does the best job of camouflaging as many "problem areas" as possible. But, if we want a new swimsuit, it's an evil necessity.

So let the agonies begin.

You enter one of a dozen stores (they're all blurring together) in your quest for that perfect swimsuit - the one that hides everything you've been denying all winter long. You tread softly through the department store doors and are temporarily immobilized. Someone is filtering the theme song from Jaws through the sound system and that adrenaline-laced heartbeat signaling impending shark doom echoes in your mind.

Da dum ... da dum ... da dum ... if only there were a shark, I wouldn't have to buy a swimsuit.

The thump gets faster and louder with every step as you near the women's summer apparel. You once again come to a screeching halt and briefly scan the racks with dread. Mumbling, "Here goes nothing" to no one who cares, you plunge in hoping against all hope that they have some new style designed to make you look twenty-five pounds lighter.

Hey, nobody said that swimsuit shopping did not include fantasy.

One hanger at a time; one rack at a time, you wince at the big bold patterns (who the heck had the audacity to put bright yellow and green palm trees on a swimsuit?); you mutter the word "b***" as you hold up the thong bikini bottoms some perfect petite blond is going to flaunt. There's one at every beach, every pool. Can't be helped, so you move to the swimsuits "normal" women wear and nearly choke on tears at the sight of tankini's with buttons and bows affixed to the backside. Yeah, right, just what we all want, huge buttons and bows enhancing our butt acting like a magnifying glass screaming "Look at me! Look at me!"

You put it back on the rack and skulk on to the next ...the row of single color, plain one piece suits. Oh, yes, now you're in your element - basic black, the staple of our all our existence. You pick through the sea of tags searching for different designs and the right size and ... voila! ... you find that tag that says, "Instant Slimmer" - that precious paper square with the small print claim that this suit will help you look ten pounds thinner the moment you slide it past your knees. Yippi!

Off to the dressing room you go daring to skip with the hope of potential only to come crashing down. Ah, damn. Some department store executive idiot thought it would be an ingenious idea to put double mirrors in the dressing room so customers could have a "full view." Jeez, so much for blissfully going to the beach in oblivion.

No choice. Deep breath. Remember the promised land of being ten pounds slimmer.

Strip ... leave on the panties ... tug, pull, wiggle, grunt ... yes, it's above the knees!

Tug, pull, wiggle, grunt again and, yes ... ummmm ... not so bad. It does make my breasts perk and it does tuck the tummy in ... this is a definite possibility! Could it be?

And, then reality hits you.

You suddenly remember those double mirrors and tentatively shift your eyes so you can see everything in full view. Hope holds to one last thread before you focus and realize that those ten pounds slimmed from the front all had to go somewhere ... yep, they were all pouring out the back like Play Dough smashed through a strainer.

To top it all off, that jerk filtering the theme song to Jaws through the sound system, just changed the music to those famed Beethoven 5 th Symphony chords of tragedy.

"Ah, bite me!" you yell at the speakers in the ceiling as you rip off the suit that was falsely advertising model results.

Cheers of solidarity erupt from the other ladies dressing room stalls as they too curse the trials and tribulations of swimsuit buying season.

Stumbling back into your clothes, you exit with a vow to never enter this establishment again and tell yourself that last year's suit ... the one that is already five years old ... is perfectly fine.

Now, if there just wasn't that worn out hole in the backside, everything would be okay.

Grrrrr ... off to the next store.

*** Denver's Best Swimsuit Shops