A previous version of this post was published last summer, June 2011. By way of disclaimer, I might add that a week without make-up seems to be altering my sense of humor.
When I was young and hairless and svelt, I was paralyzed by anxiety and modesty; thus, I hated you.
Now I am nigh on thirty-four, pruney, with a body thrice ravaged by childbirth; thus I am resigned to you.
However, based on what I’ve seen today at the beach . . .
when I become an old leather saddle
with tiny boobs that sag like a half- filled sandwich bag
with the anxiety of youth and the vanity of middle age far behind
. . . then I will befriend you, tattoo you, bikini you, and show you to the sun.
Just know, Body-o-mine, your day is coming. Wrinkle up Girl!
Our butt cheeks are hanging out of this bathing suit. No one wants to see that.
P.S. Wrinkle your own self up, you ungrateful skinny Hag!