This summer Mister Man and I spent many Saturday afternoons at our neighborhood pool. The experience was relaxing and…quite fascinating. Our first afternoon pool visit, we claimed the last remaining two lawn chairs and plopped down, grateful not to be lying on towel covereduncomfortable concrete. I carefully applied my two hundred and eighty proof sunscreen and sat beneath my draping, oversized hat doing my best to keep the wrinkles at bay. Mister Man took out the newspaper from the pool bag and I began to read my book. It was going to be a lovely day and having time to relax felt fantastic. I could hear the joy of children playing and somebody close by had a boom box cranking Hank Jr. Not a worry in the world. I continued reading and felt so peaceful enjoying some quality time with Mister Man.
When all of the sudden, I looked up and saw her. The beautiful girl in her early twenties sporting an itsy bitsy, teensy weensy, yellow polka dot bikini. She was standing in the center of the pool area stretching and flipping her long wet hair. Miss Thing was either practicing yoga moves or making absolutely certain that everybody within a one mile radius witnessed each angle of her person. Three of her male friends/fans sat in chairs beside her, but she was too busy doing yoga to acknowledge them. The guys seemed perfectly content being in her presence and I assumed they were quite fortunate with the seating arrangement.
A few minutes later, several of her girlfriends arrived. It appeared that they all went to the same yoga class as they began the posing. At their ages, bathing suit shopping is one of the major highlights of the year. At my age, I would prefer to go to the dentist and have a root canal with not one ounce of happy gas to help ease the pain. At some point, parts just don’t look the same, no matter how hard you work. And if you hate running unless someone is chasing you with a sharp object, such as myself, it is even more grim. Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t trade my forty-three year old brain and experience for a twenty year old body for anything in the world. But I did find myself hoping that every one of them had ugly toes.
It had never occurred to me until this moment, but one thing was certain…everybody at the swimming pool was extremely aware of their bodies. Young, middle aged, male, female, heavy, thin, the ultra toned and seriously floppy. Whereas the young and toned found their way to the middle of the pool area, the rest of us hid under trees, never daring to walk towards the middle without a bathing suit cover. Those that were brave enough to approach the muddy trenches without bathing suit covers, casually looked down, sucking their parts is as best as possible. I did learn a great trick that day. I realized that if laid flat on my back in the lounge chair things looked much better. As I was laying there sucking it all in, I couldn’t help notice Mister Man peeking over the top of the newspaper watching the yoga class. He wasn’t being disrespectful, but he defiantly couldn’t help but notice the yellow polka dot bikinis.
“I am so glad we got a membership!” Mister Man declared as we packed up to go home. “I bet you are,” I thought to myself.
Week after week these young girls continued torturing all of the faded bombshells as well as their husbands until one day there was a game changer… He was about 6’2”, dark hair, and only one word comes to my mind—Tarzan. Tarzan was the most handsome man I had ever seen and was quite the diver! Watching him climb out of the pool with water dripping from his toned pectorals nearly made me blush. But it was such sweet revenge. I just smiled and watched the show. Mister Man was very aware of Tarzan and the smile on my face.
“Man, I am so glad we got a membership here, honey.” I said… “I bet you are.” he replied.