While I 100% agree with her sentiment, I totes reject her ultimatum. She starts her plea with these ill-fitting choices:
“You’ve got two choices every summer — to put on a swimsuit or to skip it.”
Pardon my french, but screw that. I refuse to wear a bathing suit. REFUSE. I haven’t owned a bathing suit in years, the premise being if I don’t own one, no one can make me wear it.
However, I don’t let that stop me from getting in the water, with engaging in my children’s summer and infiltrating their pool and ocean memories. I have a blast in the water you guys. And I love swimming with my babies.
I don’t care if I look like a fat, modest freak. Really. I don’t. Not nearly as much as I’d care if I were essentially wearing underwear in front of strangers. SO MUCH NO. My self-esteem rejects that reality.
These spider veins and cellulite are for behind close doors only. Deal.
The important part is that I don’t sit on the sidelines. So wear a bathing suit. Or don’t.
But get in, y’all. It’s worth it.