Are you ready?
I took off the rack, tried on, and then proceeded to purchase....
...drumroll...
...a pair of shorts.
Shorts!!!!!!!
Of course I know you don't think this is ridiculous nor did you even notice I hadn't worn a pair of shorts in the last 15 years (at least); my best friend didn't notice. My MOM didn't notice.
But I noticed.
I noticed because for fifteen full years I walked past clothing racks of shorts and at the thought of trying them on had to stop myself from making that sound Melissa McCarthy makes in Bridesmaids when she's trying not to throw up.
Such was my panic. Such was my fear.
Fifteen years is a lot of time. That's time enough to let my cloaked-from-the-sun legs turn so white, they'd long ago begun to give off a bluish glow.
Here I am in probably one of the last pairs of shorts I ever owned (circa 1994):
All these years I've been haunted by this feeling that my cellulite would be the death of me. Like if I dared leave the house exposing my shamefully imperfect upper thighs, I'd let all the world in on some dirty and evil bit of inside information, the kind that could get a person arrested or kidnapped.
Fucking stupid. Seriously fucking STOOOOOOOOpid!
(Erase, erase. I know I'm not stupid. But I also know it's pretty lame to let so much ride on some less-than smooth skin. So it's settled. I'm not stupid. Just lame. Haha.)
I owe my venturing out to a couple of coworker friends who both expressed surprise that I'd been so unwilling to wear shorts and who assured me that people (even men that they were and everything) are fully aware that women have cellulite, don't expect that real life women will look like fitness models or Maxim cover girls, and both of whom pretty casually made it sound as though I should basically get over myself.
Ahem.
So I did. And I bought the shorts. And I WORE the shorts. And the next however-many-years of my life will feel just a little (or maybe even a lot) more liberated for it.
Pretty cool.
My first outing in the shorts was to my parents' anniversary brunch. At the brunch my Mom mentioned that I would be proud of her for buying her first swimsuit in years.
Whaaaaaaaaat?!
I never again thought my Mom (who'd worn a bathing suit nearly half the days in any given year until I was about 17 but then NEVER AGAIN SINCE) would let her legs and arms see so much light of day.
And for years I've been trying to get her (this is gonna sound a little familiar) to basically get over herself and come swimming with us (yes, I said "us." How it was that I was willing to go out in public in a bikini but not a pair of shorts is beyond rational explanation except to say that people are expected to be wearing minimal clothing at the beach or the pool, regardless of their shapes. It was my mistaken thought that they were also expected to look great in shorts, if they were wearing them. I guess my brain filtered out all the exceptions I must have encountered every summer).
ANYway. We were going swimming at the pool in my parents' neighborhood after brunch, so we first stopped at their home to change. My Mom walked sheepishly out of her bathroom in a pretty, brightly patterned swimsuit and a matching swimsuit cover and I couldn't help but cry with happiness. I swear this was my Mom in her natural element. All my life I've seen her sunbathing on the beach or poolside, turning strategically to tan evenly on both sides, slathering suntan lotion, sunglasses- and sunhat-clad. THIS was the Mom I'd always known and had missed!
I hugged her big and told her I was proud of her. And then she told me I inspired her! (The same person who wouldn't go out in shorts). She said she was inspired watching me take my sons out swimming even knowing it meant wearing a bathing suit in public (something she knew I was loathe to do for a while until I had my younger son and decided it wasn't fair to deprive him of such experiences because of my own fear/self-consciousness/vanity).
So we stood there hugging, happy for each others' new forays into the land of the still-living (because to me, if there's something--a perfectly safe and reasonable something--that I want to do but won't simply out of fear? There's some living I'm missing out on).
Over the years I've gained a lot of good stuff about body image from my Mom and her consistently encouraging me. I've also probably absorbed some negative messages as well, if for no other reason that I grew up (a curious (nosy) and silent listener...I think they forgot I was around) listening to my Mom and aunts always talking about dieting, belittling their own bodies, continuously striving for some kind of magical thinness that seemed just out of reach.
How joyed I feel to participate in this joint celebration of getting over ourselves. How refreshing to think 'fuck it' and truly mean it!
We're headed back to the pool tomorrow, me and my Ma. There I'll watch her rub suntan lotion on her arms in the familiar way that takes me back to so many summers past, and I'll smile inside to have that version of her back poolside, enjoying just one little happy bit of what this life has to offer.
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