The Case of the Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weenie

On the second day of our honeymoon, a woman with the body of Jessica Alba wearing an aquamarine thong bikini hit on my husband. This would have been fine, if I on the other hand had the body of Angelina Jolie to boot.

Unfortunately, there I was, standing unceremoniously in a diving suit because my regular one piece can no longer hold in the bump that is now my belly, along with the other random jiggly bits that have attached themselves to my mid section over the months leading up to my second trimester. I've never been that confident to get a two piece, much less a bikini, much less like the one she was wearing. The sea water wasn't doing wonders on my already seaweed-like hair either.

We were on a boat, ready to go snorkeling, and the antagonist was leaning against the side railings while her similarly clad friends took pictures. All male eyes were on them. Husband included. It was a bid for shameless self promotion.

Maybe it was the Renoma trunks, maybe Husband was the only Asian guy on board, but of all the oogling apes, she singled out Husband to zip up her backpack, toss her her slippers and (brace for it, girls) ask what time it was. (We're on a boat in the middle of the frickin' ocean, do you REALLY need to know the time?)

Lunch was on the island near where we’d been snorkeling where a few tables were set out. Husband, being the skanky whore he was, picked the table nearest to Little Miss Hussy. Where the incessant lowlife (NOT talking about Husband, this time) leant over, made like I didn’t exist and started casual conversation on weather and how the buffet was. Not that she ate much. She probably wasn’t starving anyway, except maybe for attention.

I don’t blame Husband for this fiasco, at least, not overtly. It was a bikini thong, and men are, unfortunately, visual creatures.

Which means, of course, that it was all on HER. Screw the Yaya Sisterhood.

I knew by this time that my teeth were clenched because my jaw was beginning to ache and I resist the urge to go all Beyonce on her like she did in that movie with Ali Larter. So I gave up, and concentrated on the food, which, from a combination of being pregnant and exhausted from snorkeling, was easy to do. From that point on the remainder of the conversation was blah, blah, blah, something, something-else. The pasta was actually really good.

Thing was, that was the last we saw of her. She and her friends had to cut their trip short because she stepped on a sea urchin while snorkeling after. There was truly no greater pleasure then seeing that bikini thong get on a small boat and speed away, gradually getting smaller until it was merely a speck on the horizon.

Later, back at the hotel, Husband remarked on the incident. 'You know,' he said, 'how could someone be so dumb as to step on a sea urchin? She saw it, all spiky and dangerous looking, but she went ahead and stepped on it anyway. I knew someone that good looking couldn't have been that smart.'

Apparently, there is sweet justice in the world.