When did I become my grandmother?

I am going to Cuba in three weeks which has necessitated shopping for a swim suit. It is too bad that I do not currently live in the era of the early 1900’s. I could get by wearing a garment akin one of these styles that would hide all the bumps and flabby bits.

But no, none of these looks are currently available (and believe me I searched). Since I was in desperate need of a new swim suit, and Sears was advertising a 50% off sale, I plucked up my courage, selected a few styles and entered the fitting room.

The tags boasted tummy tucking, hip trimming, bosom enhancing styles. Ha! Talk about deceptive advertising.

This was not how I looked (although perhaps… if I had struck this particular pose in the fitting room…oh, who am I kidding!!).

I realize my youthful ambitions to grace the front pages of a fashion magazine or strut down the runway as a Victoria’s Secret Model will never happen. My only hope would be if they came up with Victoria’s Ancient Secret Catalogue.

When I entered into that fitting room cubicle with its cruelly revealing every flaw lighting, it was a bit of a shock that my once youthful bikini body was long gone. Instead it has been replaced with skin and muscle that bears the marks of childbearing, surgeries and of years of gravitational pull.  I saw that, dear God, I had become my grandmother!

Then I thought, really is that such a bad thing?

We are all so obsessed with youth, but I would not go back to that time with all its awful uncertainties and anxieties. No. I am much more comfortable and confident in the skin I am in now.

So when I am in Cuba, I am going to don my bathing suit, hit the the beach and proudly display all those  bumps and flabby bits. I earned them.