Starting today, I will post short memoirs on Monday. Since I like alliteration, this new feature is called Mini Memoir Monday! I hope you enjoy:
When I was a kid, summer meant long days at camp Pathunka where I ate soggy cold peanut butter sandwiches and perfected the art of macramé. The highlight of day camp was our weekly visit to the Scarsdale public swimming pool. That’s when I first saw her.
Clad in a high-cut red bathing suit reminiscent of the Baywatch babes, she was the most popular lifeguard at the pool. The other lifeguards flocked to her side. Teenage boys pretended to drown in front of her station just to catch a glimpse of her lips on the whistle. Deep brown tan, blonde beach waves, and curves galore, she was the peak summer’s bounty. But I never focused on those qualities. I fixated on her jiggly thighs.
That’s right, with each flip-flop step she took, a thin layer of fat would dance across her toned muscles. It was absolutely mesmerizing, and I viewed this as the most beautiful sign of femininity. I squeezed my own interminably firm eight-year-old thighs and prayed that one day I too would have beautiful, jiggly thighs.
I think about this lifeguard every summer when I break out the shorts and curse myself for not doing enough squats. ‘Careful what you wish for’ I joke, as I squeeze my interminably soft 28-year-old thighs. It only took me 20 years to realize that it was her confidence that made every part of her, from the blonde waves to the jiggly thighs, beautiful. I try to remember this when I walk down the street, hoping that there’s a little girl out there who will see my perceived flaws as the most beautiful thing about me.
- Lifeguard training? (carignanmichelle.wordpress.com)
- Lifeguard Master Improves on its Swim Suite Line (prweb.com)
- Jiggly Thighs and Proud (runfromtheworld.wordpress.com)