Saturday, May 12, 2007
Oh God, It's Bathing Suit Time Again
I'm depressed today. It happens every year around this time. I start making vacation plans, which always include water because I love the ocean and I love the feel of the sun on my skin. I start getting my little fun in the sun wardrobe together down and then it comes time to purchase the suit and that's when I get depressed.
Okay, I know. I'm supposed to be the motivational guru for being sexy in your own skin, but damn, I am only human. Sure, most of the year, I feel great and blessed to be me. I mean, I'm not perfect, my boobs may no longer be in the right place but my heart sure is. In a couple of weeks I'll be 49 and I do feel sexy and confident and zesty...most of the time. But not now because...
...it's bathing suit time again.
I thought I had licked this problem last year when I took a cruise by myself to work on my book. I was not there to play but to work and I promised myself that if I met my goal, I would take the day off at the end of the week and treat myself to a little sun and beach and jewelry buying in St. Maarten. So, each morning I would throw on my one piece and go out onto my balcony with my laptop and write, soaking up a few rays in private. And each afternoon I'd throw on my very cute cover up and kitten heels and go up on deck to get lunch and wade through a sea of bodies, many clad in itty bitty bikini's that well, I felt shouldn't be. I'd shake my head, giggle to myself and keep on struttin' smugly thinking that I was looking pretty cute after all.
Then about the fourth day of feeling hot and sweaty covering myself up on deck because my body wasn't 'perfect,' it dawned on me that these women were the one's that really had it going on. They were the ones having fun, enjoying the sun on their bare skin, not giving a damn who was looking or being judgemental (uh, that would be me). They were happy being who they were, where they were, looking the way they did. And I decided right then and there that the next day in St. Maarten, I was going to buy a bikini and liberate my tired, way too flabby ego.
And I did. I got off that ship and marched into town and bought the first bikini that fit (believe me, it wasn't the first or second or the sixteenth I tried on). I wanted it black, I mean even if it was only one quarter of a yard of material,black makes you look skinny, right? Well, the only one that fit happened to be bright red. Cherry-ain't-no-way-in-hell-you-ain't-going-to-be-noticed-now red. That's okay, I had a new attitude and I wore that bad boy out the store (under my sundress) and strut my cherry red behind right down to the beach. I disrobed and felt that lovely sun kissing my near naked body and ceased to give a damn about what anyone, especially me, thought about what I did or didn't look like. And you know what, I didn't care about what the other bodies around me looked like either (except for that one hunky, ripped Antonio Banderas looking guy a couple towels down).
I carried that liberated feeling and those sexy bikini tan lines with me for the rest of the summer and into the fall and winter. But here I am again back to the idiot idea of chasing a body image instead of being satisfied with my self-image. Why are we women so hard headed and so hard on ourselves? We will love everyone else around us with all their glorious flaws--everyone except ourselves.
Damn. I learned the lesson but have yet to mastered it. Maybe next summer.
Ah hell, let me put this chocolate down and go pull out that sucker right now. No time like the present to remind myself that sexy starts in your head, where it ends is what makes your body smile!
What do you think?