It’s that time of year again. Time to get out the shorts , T-shirts, cute babydoll dresses, and the dreaded bathing suit.
Time for all the weight loss ads promising to help me get my “summer body.” Guess what bitches? I’ve already got my summer body and it is ready for the beach. You know how I got it? I was born with it.
It 👏🏼 Is 👏🏼 48 👏🏼 Years 👏🏼 Old and I am OVER worrying every moment of my life what some person I don’t know, nor do I want to know, thinks about me and my body and my two-piece.
My body is ready for the beach alright - because it is WORN THE EFF OUT and by the time I get there I may crawl off the plane and just roll down to the beach like a beach ball.
My body is ”beach ready” because it has carried two babies. It has endured three surgeries to get them here. It has suffered the side effects of some real big babies - side effects that have me going to PT, 21 years later, on a weekly basis for the equivalent of a pelvic exam because my pelvic floor is essentially so knotted up and full of scar tissue that I have taken out stock in Depends, and have developed hip, back and foot pain as a result of “just living with it.” (That’s okay, doctors - don’t bother referring women to physical therapy after major abdominal surgeries. It will be fine).
So yeah, this body is beach ready. Ready to lie on my chair next to my bestie, throwing back vodka, laughing my ass off and eating Fritos with cheese dip while yelling at her for feeding the damn seagulls.
So, folks can go on down the road with diets disguised as “healthy lifestyles.” They ain’t. Get out of my feed with those photoshopped images. All lies. Do not let me overhear someone talking about someone else’s body in their bikini on the beach… because I’m old, intermittently filled with rage, leaky, and just crazy enough to start something.
Life is short. Live it up. You eat the cake. I’ll eat the Fritos. And the pie. And the cheese dip…
See you and your beautiful bodies on the beach!