Today is the perfect day for lying out in the sun. It’s almost eighty degrees, and there is a soft, cool breeze. I don’t plan on wasting a day like today!
So, I’m in my room, putting on my new swimsuit. I’m really excited about this suit. It’s my first real bikini. I’ve always worn a two-piece, but they are more of an athletic cut. This is one of those wonderful, skimpy, stringy things. I’ve never bought a string bikini because I’ve always looked stupid in them. Let’s face it; you’ve got to have a figure to wear a suit like this. I’ve never had much of a figure unless you consider the shape of a board an attractive figure. Yes, I’ve heard all the sayings.
“Flat as a pancake.”
“String bean.”
“Toothpick.”
“Tall drink of water.”
“Beanpole.”
That’s one I don’t really get. I mean, I understand the bean part and the pole part, but what is a beanpole anyway? You’d think, since I’m from a place where beans grow in fields and that I have actually walked beans, that I would know, but I don’t. Speaking of walking beans, I truly believe Congress needs to step in and enact some child endangerment legislation against that job.
Have you ever walked beans?
It’s the most disgusting thing on earth. I lasted one day—well, half a day really. I just couldn’t see mucking around in the mud in the blazing sun with all the bugs, chopping down weeds with a scythe.
Yes, a scythe.
Do you know what a scythe is? It’s, like, a huge, sharp, curved pirate sword.
And they hand them out to kids!
I am very fortunate that I didn’t chop off one of my legs while cutting down those stubborn weeds. That or the guy’s leg in the row next to me. And I have to tell you, when you think weeds, you think maybe a few here and a few there, like at home in your landscaping. But, no, there are about a gazillion weeds in each row. And these weeds aren’t just little things either, but often corn stalks. And it takes a lot of work to chop just one of them down. And I swear, each bean row must be, at a minimum, several hundred miles long.
At least, that’s what it felt like.
After about four hours of walking beans, I have to admit, I was ready to use the scythe on myself, just to make the misery stop. But then I figured I’d forever be remembered as the girl who killed herself in a bean field.
Not exactly the legacy I was hoping for!
So, I quit.
I’ll take babysitting some cute kids as a summer job any day. You take the kids to the pool, flirt with the lifeguards, and get a wicked tan. You go have ice cream, take the kids home, and put them down for a nap. Then, you sit in the air-conditioning and watch Oprah and your soaps. A much nicer working environment, I think.
But back to the beanpole thing.
I looked it up on the internet and guess what. There is such a thing as a beanpole. It’s all one word. It is a thin pole used to support bean vines. Just what you would think, I guess, but I can tell you that I never saw one of them during my bean-walking experience!
Where was I?
Oh, yeah, my bikini body.
It seems a strange thing happened this year. I went from a nonexistent A-cup to a nice, full B. Granted, Katie and Lisa have had boobs like this since about sixth grade—okay, so my body is a little slow—but I have to say, they were worth the wait! For once in my life, I actually fill out a bikini top on my own—as in no padding—and it looks pretty good, I think. I almost feel sexy in it. Mom was with me when I found it. At first, I thought it might be a little too skimpy, but she liked it on me.
She said, “If you’ve got it, flaunt it because, once you have kids, your body will never be the same.”
This from a woman who is five-nine and a perfect size six. She goes and works out three times a week with a group of friends.
Although, from the sound of it, I suspect there is more gossiping and coffee-drinking going on than actual exercising. However, she must be doing something right because she still wears a bikini herself and looks good in it. When we go on vacation to the beach, it’s really kind of embarrassing because the young guys pay more attention to her than they do me.
Maybe there is hope for me.
Of course, I’d prefer not to have to wait twenty years before I get a boy to notice me in a swimsuit.
In all seriousness, I know there are large, really important issues in the world. World peace, terrorism, nuclear arms, and global warming. But, honestly, finding the perfect swimsuit has got to be at the very tip-top of most women’s list regardless of race, religion, political, or sexual orientation. So, in finding this perfect bikini, I really feel I’ve done my part to help conquer this great world issue.
I’m thinking about the bikini’s big inaugural event. It will first be viewed by the public—and, specifically, Jake, who I’ve been dating off and on for about three months now—at a big river outing some of us are having next weekend. Today, my plan is to hide in the backyard and fill in my tan lines, so it really looks great.
I am prepared to lie in the sun all afternoon if that’s what it takes.
I am so proud of my strong convictions!
I have the whole place to myself. Mom is at a volunteer meeting, and Dad is at work. Jake would be pissed to learn that I’m home alone and not begging him to come over—you know, so we can be alone—but I’m not in the mood to deal with that today. It’s too perfect of a day. So, I put the stringy thing on and appraise myself in the mirror.
Not bad.
The bikini is of the string variety, like I said. It’s supposed to look like the American flag. One side of the triangular top is blue with white stars. The other side is red with white stripes. The bottoms are also red and white stripes, and all the strings are made from the star fabric. It is really very cute.
I head out to the backyard, move my chaise into the sun, and cover myself with a mixture of baby oil and iodine. I know, I know; no sunblock is a bad thing. But my mom used it when she was young, and she doesn’t have cancer or anything. Plus, it works great!
I lie down on my stomach first. Next to me is a table with an ice-cold Diet Coke and a trashy novel to read if I so desire. Playing is my current favorite mix CD.
Ah, perfection.
I close my eyes and start to daydream. I’m envisioning Jake’s possible reactions to the tiny bikini. They have ranged, so far, from him wrapping me in a towel because he is so desperately jealous and doesn’t want anyone else to see it to attacking me with kisses out on a raft to his fainting in amazement of my body to—
“Hey, Jay,” a male voice says.
I open one eye and see Danny’s head peeking through the gate.
“Come play catch with me and Mac.”
Oh, come on. Can’t you see I am very busy?
“Ah, Danny, I can’t. I’ve got oil all over me.”
“Please, Jay. I’ve got football camp coming up, and I haven’t thrown a pass in two weeks.”
“What about Kelly Majesky?” I reply smartly, referring to his latest in a long string of female conquests.
Really, if Danny were a girl, he would totally be considered a slut.
“Football passes, Jay,” he says smoothly, rolling those baby-blue eyes at me. “Come on.”
“I can’t, Danny. I really need to work on my tan today. I’m all set up here.”
“When we’re done, I’ll take you and Phillip to The Shack for ice cream,” he bribes in a singsong voice. “My treat. Come on. You can get a tan while playing football. You play in a swimsuit all the time.” He pauses. “Of course, with all that oil on, you’ll be harder to tackle. Maybe you’ll give Phillip a run for his money. For once.”
For once?
A challenge, huh?
Hmm.
“I want a double cheeseburger, fries, a chocolate shake, and maybe even a hot fudge sundae. Deal?”
“Pig,” he replies but nods his head in agreement.
“Fine, I’ll be there in a minute.”
I lay my head back down and try to revive my daydream. Unfortunately, it’s long gone.
I look at my back. No change yet, but I guess Danny’s right. I can play with my suit on.
Play and fill in the tan lines at the same time.
I am so efficient!
So, I get up from my comfy spot, walk over to the picnic table, hook my finger through a belt loop on my favorite cutoffs, pull them off the table, and drag them behind me. I walk over to my fence and fling open the gate.
Danny and Phillip are casually tossing the ball to each other in the empty lot next door. The lot has a luscious carpet of grass that Phillip and Danny work hard to keep immaculate, just for this purpose.
I start to walk toward them, and then I think, stop, and yell, “Shoes or no shoes?”
You have to decide this in the beginning because, if you don’t have shoes and the other guy does, it can be a very painful day for your toes. If the boys are feeling very serious about their practice, it’s shoes.
Most often though, it’s no shoes.
I keep standing there, holding my shorts, waiting for an answer.
“Hello?” I say, waving my shorts in their direction.
But the boys are both just standing there, staring at me, their mouths agape.
Is one of my boobs hanging out or something? I take a quick look down at myself. No, everything appears to be in order.
What? It’s like they can see me, but they can’t hear me.
“Shoes?” I yell again because maybe they didn’t hear me.
“Uh,” says Phillip, looking down at his own feet like he can’t remember if he has them on. “Um, no shoes.”
Phillip gives Danny a sideways glance, and Danny smiles back at him.
What’s up with those two? I probably missed some stupid boy joke.
Whatever.
I jog over to them in my bare feet, pull on my shorts, and zip them up. “Okay, I’m ready.”
“Uh, new swimsuit, Jay?” Danny asks with his eyebrows raised at me, half a smirk on his face.
“Yeah. Do you like it? I got it for the Summer Bash next week.”
Danny doesn’t answer my question but asks one of his own, “Your dad seen it yet?”
“Well, no, but he’s not going to the party. So, do you guys like it? Does it look okay?” I stare at Phillip. “Phillip?”
Phillip is still looking at me, sort of shocked.
What’s the deal? Does it look bad?
Phillip starts to open his mouth to say something. At first, nothing comes out, but then he says, “I think I like that pink one you have better.”
Jerk!
The pink one he is referring to is practically a granny-style one-piece. I give that boy a mad face.
Danny looks at Phillip and shakes his head at him. Then, he winks at me and says, “Go long, right, Jay.”
I do, and we play catch for about thirty minutes, running various plays and routes. It’s usually fun and a good workout for me. But, the whole time we’re playing, Phillip’s bikini comment is festering in my brain.
I brilliantly intercept a pass, and I nearly scream out loud, Ha-haha-haha, Phillip! You jerk! But I withhold my comments and give him a smirky grin instead.
That apparently doesn’t bother him in the least because he shrugs his shoulders at me, his body saying, No big deal.
And that really pisses me off.
So, on the next play, as we’re running side by side down the field, I carefully stick my foot out with the intention of accidentally tripping him.
Only it doesn’t quite work as I imagined because my leg gets tangled up with his, and we both go down.
BOOM.
I land on my side with a thud and literally bounce off the grass.
And it must knock the wind out of me because I can’t seem to breathe.
I try to take a breath, but before I can, Phillip rolls me over on my back, pins my arms above my head, and sits on me.
At first, I think he’s going to tickle me or something, but then my oxygen-deficient brain registers his brown eyes flashing black.
Uh-oh. I don’t think he’s very happy with me.
I painfully suck in a breath of air just as he leans down close to my face.
Warm, minty breath blows on me when he yells, “You did that on purpose!”
“What are you talking about?” I ask ever so innocently.
Who? Me?
“You’re being mean! I don’t know what your problem is, but I won’t let you hurt us both. I’ll be damned if I miss senior year football with a broken leg because you can’t play nice.”
“Poor little Phillip. Can’t play with the big girls?”
“I play fine with girls,” Phillip answers with a smirk of his own.
A little too fine lately, if you ask me.
He might be getting too cute and confident for his own good.
He pushes my hands into the ground. “I’m serious. No more cheap shots.”
“You can’t tell me what to do, Phillip.”
“Maybe not, but I’ll tell your dad you’ve been a poor sport.”
Oh crap. He’s got me on that.
“Fine. Get off me.”
Phillip stays where he is and says in his calmer, sweeter voice, “What are you so pissed about anyway? Are you mad at Danny?”
Is he serious? I mean, is he really that clueless? How could he possibly not know what has me so upset? And, really, why do I care what he thinks anyway? He’s just a big, fat dork who dates clueless girls. Girls who wouldn’t know a tight spiral pass if it hit them in the, uh, well, you know.
“Hey! You guys gonna get a room, or do you wanna play some football?” Danny yells from across the yard.
Danny. Wow. I almost forgot he was here.
But I’m glad because his comment jerks me out of my feeling-sorry-for-myself mood, and my cockiness comes rushing back. I raise an eyebrow at Phillip and then let my eyes wander down the length of his body.
I mean, he is on top of me.
He gives me the evil eye, gets up, and throws the ball back to Danny. “I’ve had enough,” he says.
I hop up and follow Phillip to where Danny’s standing.
All of a sudden, my legs feel itchy.
Crap.
A bunch of loose grass clippings are stuck to the oil on my legs. Not particularly attractive, I think as I try to brush them off.
Danny, trying to ease the unusual tension between Phillip and me, laughs and points at me. He calls me the Grass Monster or something equally juvenile and stupid.
Phillip finally laughs, too, and then says, “I’m starving!”
“Yeah, me, too. Let’s go,” Danny agrees. He bends down, grabs his T-shirt off the grass, and slides his feet into a pair of flip-flops.
“I’ve gotta run home and grab a shirt and some shoes,” Phillip tells us.
I start to head to my house to grab a shirt, too.
Danny responds to Phillip by saying, “Jay’s driving that hot new Mustang of hers.” Then, he runs up behind me, snaps me on the butt with his T-shirt, and follows me home.
“What was that all about?”
“Oh, he was just pissed because he thought I tripped him on purpose.”
Danny looks at me like a human lie detector. “Did you?”
I chuckle. “Maybe …”
I shove my shoulder into his and say, “So, I know what Phillip thinks of the bikini, but you never gave me a straight answer. So, do you like it? Come on, Danny, I value your opinion, and I really don’t want to wear it to the party if it looks stupid on me.”
Danny thinks for a moment, like he’s not sure what to say.
I mean, come on!
Any other girl in a bikini, and Danny would be giving me much more information about the bikini than I would ever want to know. You’d think he’d at least be able to answer one simple question about my bikini.
Finally, Danny turns to me and says blandly, rolling his eyes, “Jake will love it.”
Yay!
“But you’d better just have water at the Shack, or you might outgrow it before the party.”
I flash angry eyes at him, but I can tell by his smirk that he’s just teasing me.
“Cheapskate. You’re just trying to get out of buying me lunch.”
