Just returned from Ft. Lauderdale where I realized a couple of things. First, I could get used to living where the humidity is >10% on any given day. Really, my skin felt fab.u.lous the entire time I was there!
Second, I may be too old to live somewhere that cool.
Really. I was reminded on multiple (at least 100) occasions that there is no way in hell that I'm going to wear my bikini cut that high and scant. To do so would require grooming beyond rational bounds. Also, I'm trying hard to imagine anyonewanting being forced to look. And they wouldn't be able to help looking. We love train wrecks, right?
On one occasion where my decision to wear more (it's relative, I realize) modestly cut suits was reinforced poolside. No shocker there, right? Halfway during my lunch, an improbably voluptuous bottle blonde in a turquoise bikini top that was about 4 sizes too small for her balloon breasts swayed by and after I stopped staring (seriously, I tried not to look, but..) I noticed her staring down, clearly appreciating her own bounty.
Really? Ok, so if I'd paid that much for an inflated chest I might look, too. But still.
Now might be a great time to say that I love how European women present themselves. Voluptuous or willowy, tall or short, they somehow manage to embrace their womanly form and put it out in a gracious and elegant way. We Americans have a lot to learn, I think. You're given what you're given, and short of extremes of exercise or physical alteration with sharp instruments or sucky devices you're going to be that.
How did the European part come up? I've always observed that about them, and when my mom lived in Germany we had discussions about how comfortable her German friends were with their bodies, sensuality and general sense of self. It was refreshing, she said, after living in the States her whole life and witnessing the Puritan then commercial view of women change from oppressed to objectified.
Case in point? A beautiful (by any standards) middle aged woman of Latin descent lay by the pool close to where we were eating. She was clad in a lovely bikini, not prudish but also not of the string variety. She was a real woman. Not willowy, but curvy and clearly comfortable in her own skin. She was proportional. No ultra-inflated top, no super skinny bottom, just the normal stuff.
She looked great. She exuded confidence and had a great laugh. She certainly had the attention of the man who was sitting across from her, listening intently while she spoke.
In less than a half hour she became my new inspiration when it comes time to shop for another bikini.
Back to the breeze part. And the boats.
I opened the sliding glass door to my room the moment I got there, and left it open the entire time I was there. 5 days of blissful breeze blowing my room. It was incredible.
The boats...well, the ones right outside the room were astonishing. Big. Showy. Beautiful.
The view from my balcony:
But the ones to truly enjoy were on the other side, over by the marina bar. The 45-60 footers. Fiberglass and wood hulls, alike. Great lines. The ones whose complement of radar/sonar/communication and satellite gear total the GNP of a small country. In a good year. 'Cuz if you're floating around the Caribbean on a lovely boat, it's best not to get oneself lost. That would be most uncool.
The kind you can spend about a month on just motoring between beautiful bay destinations, on which you prepare lovely meals of fresh fish and fruit and drink wines chosen to perfectly complement your ingredients. The kind where you can, and occasionally do, sleep out under the stars on comfortable cushions while you attempt to perfect your celestial navigation. (For just in case your very expensive equipment goes on the fritz.)
I'm pretty sure I'm not cool enough for that, but given the chance, I'd do my very best to take 'cool' classes and learn to tie serious knots.
In a heartbeat.
Second, I may be too old to live somewhere that cool.
Really. I was reminded on multiple (at least 100) occasions that there is no way in hell that I'm going to wear my bikini cut that high and scant. To do so would require grooming beyond rational bounds. Also, I'm trying hard to imagine anyone
On one occasion where my decision to wear more (it's relative, I realize) modestly cut suits was reinforced poolside. No shocker there, right? Halfway during my lunch, an improbably voluptuous bottle blonde in a turquoise bikini top that was about 4 sizes too small for her balloon breasts swayed by and after I stopped staring (seriously, I tried not to look, but..) I noticed her staring down, clearly appreciating her own bounty.
Really? Ok, so if I'd paid that much for an inflated chest I might look, too. But still.
Now might be a great time to say that I love how European women present themselves. Voluptuous or willowy, tall or short, they somehow manage to embrace their womanly form and put it out in a gracious and elegant way. We Americans have a lot to learn, I think. You're given what you're given, and short of extremes of exercise or physical alteration with sharp instruments or sucky devices you're going to be that.
How did the European part come up? I've always observed that about them, and when my mom lived in Germany we had discussions about how comfortable her German friends were with their bodies, sensuality and general sense of self. It was refreshing, she said, after living in the States her whole life and witnessing the Puritan then commercial view of women change from oppressed to objectified.
Case in point? A beautiful (by any standards) middle aged woman of Latin descent lay by the pool close to where we were eating. She was clad in a lovely bikini, not prudish but also not of the string variety. She was a real woman. Not willowy, but curvy and clearly comfortable in her own skin. She was proportional. No ultra-inflated top, no super skinny bottom, just the normal stuff.
She looked great. She exuded confidence and had a great laugh. She certainly had the attention of the man who was sitting across from her, listening intently while she spoke.
In less than a half hour she became my new inspiration when it comes time to shop for another bikini.
Back to the breeze part. And the boats.
I opened the sliding glass door to my room the moment I got there, and left it open the entire time I was there. 5 days of blissful breeze blowing my room. It was incredible.
The boats...well, the ones right outside the room were astonishing. Big. Showy. Beautiful.
The view from my balcony:
But the ones to truly enjoy were on the other side, over by the marina bar. The 45-60 footers. Fiberglass and wood hulls, alike. Great lines. The ones whose complement of radar/sonar/communication and satellite gear total the GNP of a small country. In a good year. 'Cuz if you're floating around the Caribbean on a lovely boat, it's best not to get oneself lost. That would be most uncool.
The kind you can spend about a month on just motoring between beautiful bay destinations, on which you prepare lovely meals of fresh fish and fruit and drink wines chosen to perfectly complement your ingredients. The kind where you can, and occasionally do, sleep out under the stars on comfortable cushions while you attempt to perfect your celestial navigation. (For just in case your very expensive equipment goes on the fritz.)
I'm pretty sure I'm not cool enough for that, but given the chance, I'd do my very best to take 'cool' classes and learn to tie serious knots.
In a heartbeat.
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