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I Dream of Bikini  

I’m going to share an embarrassing superficial secret.

For years, decades really, I have wanted to wear a bikini. In my mind I saw the perfect one. It was always bubblegum pink with those 70’s strings hanging from the sides of the bottoms. I also imaged smooth, thin tanned legs that those sexy ties would be resting against, as well as the long lean torso showcased in the middle.

This would explain why besides the three times in my distant memory, I have never worn a bikini.  The fantasy is not the reality and for a long time I was the kind of girl who thought if you can’t do something right, don’t do it. I’m still sort of that kind of girl.

Thus, years of swim dresses and cover-ups ensued. I even successfully managed to go without wearing a bathing suit for an entire summer – twice.  Of course, all of this is unnecessary. I could certainly comfortably wear a swim suit, but that doesn’t mean that I am comfortable doing it. Also, since I dislike the water – both pool and ocean – turns out bathing suits are easier to avoid than you’d imagine.

I worked within these confines for basically my entire life, but the other day I was flipping through a bathing suit catalogue that somehow mistakenly wound up in my mailbox, and I came across a suit that almost fit my fantasy… as did the model wearing it. I lingered on the page; silently coveting and felt a shift within me.

I wanted that suit.

I couldn’t believe it. Now that I was over 40, had three children come out my pooched, overstretched stomach, I was going to cave? Was this some trick of middle age? I knew I couldn’t see distance well anymore, but could I no longer see myself clearly either? Did I really think I could get away with this?

Logically the answer was no, at least not in the way I’d like to, yet still I felt gripped by urgency. This was probably my last chance to wear something like this before middle age really set in around the middle.

I’m already done with having children. I’m done with going out late nights and dancing till dawn – okay, I don’t think I ever danced till dawn, but you know what I’m saying. I’ve got wrinkles and pains. I’m happy to be in bed by 10pm. I like hot water and lemon. I carry hard mints in a Ziplock bag. I’m – Aaaaccck – getting older.

I’ve noticed other emotional changes in myself as well, now that I’m further up the maturity chain. I’m a little more ready to take chances, a little less judgmental, more appreciative, less giving a shit. I’ve also gotten simultaneously more and less vain; which means, I notice many more things that bother me but I also don’t care as much.

Which brings me back to the bikini I’ve coveted but never owned much less worn; it was now or never. Without thinking any more, I added it to my cart and clicked purchase.

I don’t know if I’ll ever wear it, but lately I’m full of surprises.

bikini pic












Life’s a beach… And then you die!

I don’t want to go! That’s what my head is screaming as we drive with a car load of crap and crying kids to have a fun, happy day at the beach. First off, for me, the beach is not a relaxing place. It’s the place where Jaws murdered all those people. The place where unknown creatures lurk under ominous rising waves of foamy death. It’s where slimy, green things stick to your feet and make you jump in disgust and fear before shaking them off with aversion.  It’s where a million grains of sand scratch between your toes, up your nose and in your nooks and crannies. And with kids?? OMG. Forget drowning, I’m going to die of a heart attack. Turn for just one second and there are a thousand little boys who look like mine. I’m twitching in panic just thinking about it. A million people on one end, the angry sea on the other, glaring sun overhead. Really, this is fun??

Do I seem abnormally anxious about the beach? It’s possible, but I have it on good authority that I drowned in a former life, so I’m totally within reason here. Also, I was taken to see Jaws at the very impressionable age of five. I’m sure I was ready for it though. I only spent the next three years throwing books across my green carpeted floor, which I imaged to be shark-filled waters, so that I could safely step from bed to door. I’m sure everyone did that. And who, at one time or another, hasn’t had a fear of sitting on the potty because they think a shark might come up and bite them in the ass, right? Totally normal.

Da Dum Da Dum Da Dum

I love when people say, “But you’d cruise, right?” Uh no! Why would I surround myself with the object of my fear? Eating every day for 12 is appealing, but you can’t have everything. Hasn’t anyone heard of the Titanic or read the newspaper? Big ships, little ships, boats, ferries, they all sink, people. And then guess where you are?!

So that’s my mindset for family fun day at the beach. I look at the vast, dark waters and the endless sand filled with people and tell myself, “It’s going to be okay” And it is – for them at least. Howard, the boys, my sister and brothers-in-law and the cousins are laughing, playing and, yeah, frolicking. Obviously I’m the only one keenly aware of the lurking dangers, and I alone will shoulder the anxiety, a solid stick-in-the-sand in a swim dress.

Speaking of swim dresses, that’s another reason I have to stay off the beach. Less important maybe, but it doesn’t help matters. Could you really blame me? It’s right here in black and floral.

Way hot sister-in-law
Uh, yeah.

Come on beach, one way or another, you’re just killing me.