We live in South Florida — always hot, always summer, Florida. Living here has taught me that if you want to feel really crappy about yourself and guilt yourself into a starvation diet, you should simply go to South Beach.
Yep, the beaches here are filled with hot, svelte, uber-tan, scantily clad, could-be models who do things you would normally see in cheesy 80s spring break movies or the making of the
For this reason, I always have a cover-up no more than an arm's distance away as I sit under an umbrella and wonder, "When did I stop being that young, hot, frolicy, slow-motion girl? Wait, was I ever her? Shoot, I don't know if I was ever her, and now I'll never be her again or for the first time..."
This is why I rarely go to the beach. Buuuuuut, I've also learned that to combat this feeling, one does not need to spend Thanksgiving or Christmas break in an Alaska-esque climate where she can bundle up and hide under a trendy puffer jacket.
Nope, one simply needs to take herself and her beach attire to a water park. Though water parks and beaches seem similar on the surface, they're at their core polar opposites, like Walmart and Target.
Frankly, any park will do because here is a water park truth: No matter how much cellulite, varicose veins, stretch marks, regrettable tattoos or unsightly moles you have, there is someone within a 10-foot radius of you who has more... and she is wearing a bikini.
...a string bikini.
...a string bikini that would fit a 10-year-old.
Yep, at a water park your boobs look perky and your thighs, which usually feel like they're abnormally friendly with one another, feel like they sit miles apart.
This revelation hits me whenever I go to a water park, and it literally makes me giddy. I begin to murmur stuff like, "Oh, I look goooooood." "It's amazing that more people don't mistake me for the babysitter." "I feel like I could walk around with nothing on but this locker key."
Then I throw back a couple
Sure, the salty nitrates in those dogs will fill with that carbonated orange syrup, but you've got some room to bloat here, ladies.
As for my tramp stamp? I think, "Wow, that was a really good decision. In fact, that puppy could use a redo, something with more girth, more of a message, more of a story. I mean, there are guys, with skulls tattooed on their skulls and women with complete murals on their backs."
By comparison, my tat is more like something
Maybe I get a bit drunk off of the fumes from people spraying old-fashioned tan accelerator on their bodies (I think I've seen actual bottles of Sun-In), or maybe the over-chlorinated water gets to my head. It certainly gets to my over-processed hair.
Except at the park, my hair doesn't look over processed at all. G-d I love that place!