What mid-life crisis would be complete without wearing something completely inappropriate and totally embarrassing to my pre-teen in public?
I know the focus of my blog posts has shifted lately from pushing myself to try new things to sitting back and observing (and laughing through) the opera of the every day.
Life literally abounds in comedy if you just look around you – Mel Brooks
I think it’s been a combination of learning to be content with where I am and learning to laugh wherever that may be, plus a combination of the usual lack of time, energy, motivation, cash, and inspiration. BUT – inspiration took form one sunny day last Summer, as I perused the racks and racks of lycra postage-stamp-sized bikinis.
And I thought to myself:
- inappropriate? Check!
- totally embarrassing for offspring? Check!
- In my size? Sold!
What was I waiting for?
I can remember wearing a bikini outside the confines of my bedroom, only twice: my Mom’s bikini with little kittens when I was 8, and a black bikini heavily veiled under a thick t-shirt when I was pregnant with Little Guy! It’s now or never!
So I bought a black bikini top last Summer, brought it home and promptly buried it in my room. Every time I found it, I’d stare at it and ask myself, “what was I thinking?”
I dug it out on the weekend because we had been invited to a “pool party”.
But would I carry through…
Step 1: Put on bikini.
It sounded so simple until it came time to do it and I nearly dislocated my shoulder trying to snap it up behind. After fumbling for several minutes, I used the “tried and true” technique – do it up in the front where you can actually see what you’re doing, and slide it around. Check!
Step 2: Stand in front of mirror for closer inspection.
I tripped over a shoe because I was wrestling with step 3.
Step 3: Put hand over mouth to stifle scream and open eyes.
It looked fantastic…in the dark. The curtains were tightly drawn; the door closed. The lights off. And everyone in the house had been warned within an inch of their life to leave me alone!
Step 4: Turn on the lights and inspect.
Once my eyes adjusted to the glare of the light off my abdomen, and the initial shock wore off, I moved in for a closer inspection. Stand up straight, suck it in, smile and turn…?
Undecided and out of time, I threw on a sundress and prayed for rain!
Most of the husbands (and teenagers) didn’t make it to the party, which increased my comfort level significantly. But I still wasn’t convinced the world was ready for this! I wasn’t convinced I was ready for this! Instead, I hoisted my skirts and dilly-dallied on the steps in the shallow end. That is, until the women moved to the hot tub and urged me to join them.
Moment of truth…
No asked me to leave or called Greenpeace to deal with a beached whale.
The horrified glint in Little Guy’s eyes confirmed that I had not failed my duty to embarrass!
The heavens didn’t fall from the sky.
But yes…the beacon is lit!