here's how to gross out your teenagers. or just test a boundary or two on your average gorgeous day in So Cal when there are no pressing deadlines and you don't feel like adding up your debt or even getting dressed. you just feel like celebrating the end of that awful Seasonal Affect Disorder that came over you this winter (in LA this means it was cloudy two days a month, the weather dropped below 72 and all you felt like wearing was pajamas - see blog images Jan - March).so you hit the bathing suit drawer to see how last year's bikini will fit the mood, the body, the escalating temperatures inside and out and what would've been your 22nd wedding anniversary in june. you're reminded of Gilda Radner's riff on how bad everyone looks on Memorial Day. but you brave it anyway. gotta start somewhere.
and when Dad (aka your ex) drops off your two adorable teens after school -- your 15yo skate rat/Megadeth-infused son and that 17yo stressed out pre-college, voluptuous daughter -- you answer the door in a bikini. in May.
when you notice that your son is having trouble looking at you, distract him by telling him there's a dead baby opposum in the backyard.
go get a shovel for him to clean it up. walk in front him putting it out of your mind how grossed out you'd be to see your own ass from this view. when he asks where the poor little dead baby animal is, tell him it's behind the trampoline--that you discovered it when you were jumping there earlier that day. in fact, when you noticed the opossum you had to jump the other way. eww. gross. it was so sad--you didn't think you even cared for opossums till you saw this little baby one. dead.
you realize at this moment that anything's cute when it's a baby. and anything's sad when it's dead. but you need to the exercise, so you simply turn the other butt cheek and keep jumping. facing the newly lush bouganvilla.
turns out your 15yo son will be extra grossed out at this--not the opossum, he'll think that's cool--but the fact that you jumped on the trampoline in a bikini by yourself. in the middle of the day. bonus points!
your son will say: what will the neighbors think when they see a 50yo woman with white May skin in a string bikini bouncing around the backyard? you and your son will laugh. he has a sense of humor about it. you've found this boundary and it's not a bad one. you even hope this is the beginning of Respecting Women.
but your 17yo daughter doesn't find anything funny about any of it. not the bikini, the jumping, or the poor little dead animal. she inspects the little gray and black dead baby opossum with her brother then retreats to her hot pink bedroom to chill. you try to deflect her by whipping up some fresh lemonade in a beautiful glass pitcher. (just as you know to deflect away from your physical flaws when you dress, you know to do this emotionally too) very June Cleaver except for the blue string bikini and the shock of white May skin. you serve a beautiful icy pink glass of lemonade to her as she checks her email on her pink double bed with the yellow satin bedspread and treats you like her secretary. she accepts it without looking up. then she looks you straight in the eye of the negative space of the bikini (your tummy) and with undisguised disgust she flat out requests that you Get Dressed. you think you are dressed. for something. you ask her why she wants you to put something else on. she says because you look gross.
then she accuses you of being Julie Cooper the slutty mom from her favorite show The OC. all four seasons of the OC, as you cuddled on the couch with your teens and bonded with them, dumbing down your own TV sensibilities to enjoy closeness and teen travails with your kids, you stupidly thought you were getting away with reminding the kids of Kirsten the good mom with the pretty long neck and the moral compass who serves lemonade and is understanding about everything. jonah would even say so occasionally. but no. now you're Julie the bad mom who dresses inappropriately, sleeps with her daughter's friends and marries for money. all because you answered the door in a bikini. in may. after school. and without a trip to beach and a proper cover up. (so, now you have learned somthing new about Boundaries: outfits need Context and Goals and permission slips from your 17yo daughter).
well...gotta go. jonah's calling. the opposum is in the trash, the shovel's put away. and he wants extra allowance this week.
but interestingly, right now he wants a snack - something deep fried and dipped in chocolate he says. something that'll rip his heart out. he's STARVING. thank god someone didn't lose their appetite due to a misappropriated bikini or a dead opossum. go figure--his sister literally studies the dead little baby opossum over by the trampoline and that doesn't bug her at all. but seeing mom in bikini without warning or a little sand on the beach - that's another story. shocking. ewww.
GROSS.
but also interesting to note: just now, your 17yo fashionista CEO is busy dying a strand of her hair hot pink. for that Inde look. she pops in to show gross bikini-clad mom the progress. in fact, she wants approval and...advice from her scantily clothed lemonade toting mother despite mom's fashion faux pas of the day--or maybe she's just become desensitized to the profound grossness of it all. in may.
kids are so great that way. so much more fluid than adults, like the waves at the beach you're supposed to be next to in this bikini. they are unconditional in a conditional kind of way. you embarrass and disgust them one minute--they need you,love you, want your opinion the next.
ok, better go fry up some chocolate and serve some more lemonade before the kids lose their appetite for good.
happy bikini wearing all you mid-century moms. don't take offense, just take this entry as Data..or my latest fashion tip.
just know that a dead decomposing baby opposum will NOT gross out your kids, but appearing in a bikini will.
1 comment:
Hmm... nice jug.
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