Saturday, August 15, 2009

Life's A Beach

We have a really pretty, local beach about a 20 minute walk (unfortunately the way home always takes at least 30 minutes, and is replete with whining, but that's neither here nor there) from our house. It has a lovely playground, pretty walking paths, a sandy beach, a spray ground, and the harbor. Now, I don't let my kids actually swim in the harbor. When we first started taking the kids there, there was some sort of problem with the water quality, and every other day it would be off-limits for swimming. Being a harbor, it's kind of the depository of all the filth the ocean decides it really doesn't care for. I decided that if it's not safe for swimming on Tuesday, I certainly won't be dipping my toes in the water on Wednesday, no matter how many signs tell me it's ok; they have a really great little spray ground there, with water piped in from the drinking water line, and my kids have a blast in there. I don't think they realized that you could go in the water until we met some friends there one day whose kids jumped right in. The shocked looks of recrimination my children sent me were a sight to behold, but they're still not allowed in the water.

Yesterday we went to the beach, and I made the unfortunate tactical error of setting up next to the sexy moms. I don't like sitting by the sexy moms. I wasn't sexy even before I had children, and it is beyond me how these women are able to maintain the sexiness. There were 3 of them, all sporting diamond rings large enough to blind you when the sun hits them, and all 3 were wearing string bikinis with not an ounce of fat on them.

Now, we live in the land of the nip and tuck, and not being a nip and tuck gal myself, I'm never sure how to tell if one has been nipped and or tucked, but I've become pretty good at spotting breast work (is this a marketable skill???). Having birthed and nursed 2 children myself, I know from painful experience that one's chest, when left in it's natural state, will never be what it once was after such abuse. Now, while these women were not sporting BOUS's (for those Princess Bride fans, that's Breasts of Unusual Size) I did conclude that they must have all visited their friendly plastic surgeon for a little help.

I don't begrudge anyone this sort of thing, and if it makes you happy and you can afford it, more power to you. And I know that these women must spend countless hours working out to be able to wear such tiny bathing suits (I could probably have outfitted all 3 of them with the amount of material in my own suit), which I think is laudable.

But I definitely won't be sitting next to them again, if I can help it.


Bezzie said...

I'm glad you posted this. I went out and bought myself a swimsuit for our shore trips this year--I call it a "mom suit" because it covers most of the trappings of motherhood--supports the girls and covers the cellulite. I would have never thought to strategically place myself AWAY from the Sexy Moms we might encounter! Ha ha!

grmybmy said...

There is a Cape Cod beach picture (of me)from last week that is serving to renew my commitment to Weight Watchers...