It struck me while on vacation in Mexico last week, the fact of the two-pieced female bathing body. All around me, all sizes, all ages.
I, who, at 15 and somewhat anorexic at 100 plus pounds, had so feared exposing myself in a bikini, but had finally taken the plunge in Greece while visiting my mother’s family that summer. All I felt was my ugly little lower belly roll protruding, while the photos I see now show a skinny and beautiful young girl with a strained smile as she leans back on the Mediterranean sand.
But in Mexico, they surrounded me. Rolling flesh, dimpled thighs and upper asses. Stomachs plunging over neon orange bikini bottoms and fat rolls bulging over halter strings.
What shocked me most of all was their undeniable and extraordinary beauty. It has taken me this many days and years and decades to finally see it. The fat young teens, the post-pregnancy mommies, the middle-aged matrons and the old bags, all of them; so beautiful. How did it elude me before? I could not take my eyes off them. Each and every one of them — beautiful.
Except me. Of course.