I love fireworks and BBQ and pie and America, so of course I love the Fourth of July – it’s all these things rolled into one! Plus – I love that taking the day off and hanging out with friends is the correct way to celebrate the day. There is none of that Memorial Day guilt or Labor Day obligation. Hell no – it’s the Fourth of July – eating your face off and exploding things makes you a good American!
This year I was lucky enough to get invited to my friend C’s – forgive me but there’s no other word for it – mansion. It’s a mansion, a real live unapologetic statues and columns and marble floors mansion, up in the Hollywood Hills. With catered BBQ and a heated pool what could be better? I brought homemade cole slaw and wine. And a bathing suit. I hadn’t worn a bathing suit in public since getting the girls. In private and in the dark I had worn one. Paddling around in the pool down in the Florida Keys, feeling unsure about the new residents in the tankini. Definitely larger than I was used to – but kind of, well, voluptuous. Definitely ‘a rack.’ I could get used to them. Knockers. The kind of boobs guys turn their heads to check out.
I was uncomfortable, but determined not to make a big deal out of it. Enjoy the day. With everyone else splashing around in the 98 degree pool I put on the suit. It’s black with a high straight across top and a cute little skirt, very 50’s, very Marilyn Monore – which I thought was fitting given the location.
We were playing a very complicated game of see if you can get the beach ball in the inner tube when I finally began to relax. There was no reason not to be having fun. It’s the Fourth of July – it was my patriotic duty to enjoy the day – let go of the cancer worries, the money worries, the why am I here in this crazy ostentatious gold plated home with water spewing from the mouths of stone lions instead of a grassy back yard somewhere with my own kids worries. It was a beautiful day! And I needed to have fun! I am fun! I am a hoot! I yell out,
“Look – my impression of Flipper!” and submerge for the excellent trick of popping out of the water and using my face to propel the beach ball into the air – like a dolphin, get it!?
Unfortunately the pool is a little to deep to get the proper boost and I’m bummed as the ball just sort of rolls off my face.
“Catheryn!” C. yells. I turn to her and using both hands she makes a motion – the motion of pulling her suit back up over her boobs. But she means my boobs. I look down and sure enough – there they are in their full glory. Given my lack of sensation and the warm water and the cruel evilness of the gods – I hadn’t even felt it. Had she not mentioned it they would have been out until the next time I checked, which was I guess every 40 seconds or so, but still!
I looked around to see who might have gotten a good look at Frankenboobs. That’s what I call them these days with their funny slash grimaces where nipples should be. Lucky me – it seems the crowd was relatively uninterested in my Sea World trick, save one older gentleman who was now wearing a perplexed look on his face. Poor guy.
I’m wondering what the moral of the story is – never impersonate sea mammals…? Never trust spandex…? If you are going to expose your odd nippleless post mastectomy C cups – point them at the old guy with the cataracts…??
Not sure, but I decided to pretend nobody else saw – if a boob falls out in the woods and nobody’s there to see it – did it really pop out of my suit?