Friday, April 11, 2014

Baring It All Is Too Much To Bear

Swimsuit Season is right around the corner.  She saunters down the beach in my mind.  She skips along in the sand, drinking 7-Ups and making out with cute boys. She leans against the rocks, tossing her perfect mane over her shoulder and looking all cool.  She knows that I am insecure.

Swimsuit Season gestures to her close friends, Backless Sandals and Push-Up Bra.
"Check Mary out," she says.  "What's she so scared of?"
I head for the boardwalk and cross against the traffic so I can avoid them.
I am not afraid of Summer.  You mustn't believe Swimsuit Season and her gang.

Some bitches delight in making trouble for those of us with translucent skin and very little muscle tone.  They prey on girls who bruise easily.  We cannot defend ourselves against their teasing.  We can only try to do the best we can with what God gave us.

It's not as though I don't care what I look like.  Of course, I do.  Perhaps I care too much.  The last thing I want is to frighten anyone by revealing confidential information, like the out-of-shape condition of my thighs. What if someone takes a heart attack because they're not ready for these shocking details?  I'm seldom ready, and I'm the original owner.

I appreciate your kindness, but don't try to comfort me.   You have not seen my body in a bathing suit recently, so you don't know.  Besides, you have no idea what could happen once I expose all this.  Spring is such a revelatory period.

It does seem as though I devoted much more energy to my physical appearance when I was younger.  I styled my hair and decorated my face as if it were a Christmas tree and I was the holiday.  Ah, youth!  Such a festive time of self-indulgence.

These days, I'm in and out of the shower before I even realize I've been naked. Here and there, I may linger for a moment in the mirror while waiting for the water to warm up.  I'll take a glance at the big picture.  Okay, so it's not that big.  But it is upsetting.  And very pale.
"Eh.  It could always be worse," I think to myself.  That's the spirit!

I will admit, my top half still seems structurally sound.  It's the bottom portion that's uncooperative.  My legs and keester look a million times better covered in clothing and protected from the harsh scrutiny of the sun.

Swimwear presents countless challenges.  I don't swim so the exercise itself is fraudulent.  I leave the house wearing just bloomers and a harness so infrequently. I have a tough time behaving as though I see nothing wrong with breezing through town in 'undies only' mode.  A kicky floral skirtini provides very little reassurance to a physically self-conscious woman.  I've never been comfortable flaunting my assets.  I'm much better with the jokes.

Few moments of vulnerability compare with being barefoot and nearly naked in a community pool bathroom, hovering over a toilet because I got nervous and subsequently drank too much soda.  I couldn't hold it any longer.  I should have known better, but it was so hot out.

Swimsuit Season, you're not a nice girl, but I am not desperate for your friendship. I have lots of other pals who enjoy spending time with me all year long.  And not just when it's convenient.  So, there.

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