Maybe Next Year
I told my husband about my dream – the one where he tells me I should buy a bikini.
He said, “Of course you would look great in a bikini.”
And last week we took a micro-vacation – two days and one night in Newport, Rhode Island. The first day was devoted to sightseeing, looking for a parking space, eating, looking for a parking space, kite-flying, looking for a parking space, shopping, looking for a parking space, eating, and looking for a parking space.
Day Two was our beach day.
After finding a parking space, we settled in with our umbrella, blanket, towels, beach chairs, cooler, and book. Book is singular. My husband sleeps and I read.
I was deep into my book and my husband spoke. (He seemed to have uncharacteristically woken up.)
“You know,” he said, “You really could wear a bikini.”
I reminded him that although I now have a better body than I have had in a long time, it is still a sixty-one-year-old body.
“But look at that woman in the black bikini,” he said. “She looks okay, and you have a much nicer body than her.”
That got me out of my book. I looked around. But I didn’t see who he meant.
“Who?” I said.
“She walked off to the left,” he said.
So I got up and walked to the water, and looked to my left. No one in a black bikini. Or navy, or purple. (Color can be tricky with a man.) I scanned the people to my right. (Direction can be tricky with a woman.) I could not find the woman my husband had compared me to.
I walked back to the blanket, and my husband took my picture.
But for rest of the day, I was consumed with searching the beach for a black-bikini-ed woman.
We have been home for four days now, and I can’t get that woman out of my mind. Who is it that I look better than?
Certainly not Megan Fox.
Or Cameron Diaz.
Maybe Hilary Duff.
Maybe Jennifer Love Hewitt. People criticized how fat she was in this photo, but she looks pretty good to me.
I can’t help thinking that it was probably Keely Shaye Smith.
But hey. Pierce Brosnan loves her. That’s okay in my book!
Maybe next year.