Taking the Girls For a Walk

In Mexico, I learned that there are certain truths that cannot be adulterated. For instance, if one consumes an extra 10,000 calories a day in the form of Pina Coladas, Dos Equis or Mojitos, one cannot swim enough laps to stave off the extra poundage or the hang over that sets in somewhere shortly after lunch.

On the other hand, modern science has taken the truths of physical law, namely gravity, and made a mockery of them. In the weeks leading up to our honeymoon, I had floated the idea that I might take advantage of the more liberal sun bathing options in Mexico. I spoke with my mother in law about it and she said, "How do you think that will work for you?"

Good question.

Sashaying my dimpled ass down the beach is one thing. Shedding my bathing suit top while ambling down said beach is something else entirely. I took a moment and pictured what that might look like. Do you remember the old National Geographic pictorials documenting obscure African tribeswomen. Remember how their boobs looked?

Yeah.

I quickly decided that since no such thing as an invisible wonder bra exists, I might be better off getting a bit of sun on the girls whilst lying prone. After all, we all look the same lying down, right?

Um, wrong again.

Implants. They defy gravity. They languidly flip the bird at Mother Nature and tell her to take her DNA and her ageism and go pound sand.

Dallas and I were out on the beach one day, partially shaded under our palapa when I happened to look over to our left. There, lying on one of the couples beach beds was a raven haired goddess in the tiniest black thong...AND NOTHING ELSE. She was on her side deep in discussion with her husband and thus, we had only a view of her bare back. How brave. Good for her. She must be European, I thought.

And then she turned over onto her back.

I gasped. Right there on a petite, delicate frame was a ginormous set of silicone boobs. They were not Pam Anderson large but they were big enough to begin the migration, each in an opposite direction, that you see when a teeny tiny girl gets a set of double D's. I was horribly fascinated. When she was lying down, they pointed straight up. When she stood up, it wasn't all that pretty, either. Dallas said they looked like a drawstring pouch on the end of a stick. Ouch. If they had been just a cup size smaller, they could have been beautiful. But no matter. The girl was clearly confident and delighted with her stature as evidenced by her repeated efforts to be noticed. She stood and walked around, she lay down, she sat up to sip her drink and all the while, her girls were soaking up the rays unhindered by a bikini top. Again, I couldn't help but admire her lack of inhibition. YOU GO GIRL!

So, emboldened by my neighbour to the left, I lay back on our beach bed and set my girls free....

...which was liberating and fabulous and oh so cosmopolitan until I woke up the next morning with toasty tatas. I posted a blog once about men and how they unconsciously adjust and scratch their appendages. Well, NOW I UNDERSTAND and sympathize with the urge. The day after taking my girls for a walk, I found myself repositioning them in their holsters and scratching like a dog with fleas.

The sunburn was unpleasant but I have been known to wear five inch heels so obviously, discomfort doesn't faze me. The girls made a few more public appearances and I am now a woman with a fabulous tan and boobs that no longer glow in the dark.