Friday, May. 29, 2009

Celebs have bathing-suit blues, too

School is out and that can only mean one thing — it will be just a few short days before the children and I have exhausted every activity on my You Can’t Possibly Be Bored Already list.

They will lasso me with a Mickey Mouse beach towel and drag me, kicking and screaming, to the swimming pool.

Where I’ll have to swim. In a swimsuit. In public.

Is there any fate crueler than being a middle-age woman in a swimsuit in front of strangers?

Well, yeah, actually, there is. Just ask Tyra Banks.

Recently a friend sent me a chain e-mail. Inside was a photo spread of once-sexy celebs who’ve dared to – gasp! – age.

How irresponsible of those celebrities to put on a few pounds like the rest of us! What were they thinking?

The photos were meant to make the viewer feel better about herself. They showcase swimsuit-clad celebrities, sporting plenty of cellulite, frightening cleavage (some on the women, too!), saggy buns and bloated bellies.

Did it work? Well, yes and no.

Actually, it kind of hurts to see Brendan Fraser in those photos. To hear that Judge Reinhold (my crushiest crush in the ’80s), who just had a birthday last week, is now in his 50s. To see Richard Gere sporting a little pot belly. To see John Travolta grouped in with all these celebs who’re supposed to be “old farts.” In fact … I’m not sure when this happened … but … I might have once had a crush on every single actor who is now on the “old fart” list. I had Tiger Beat photos of most of them pinned on my bedroom wall, for goodness sake.

Did seeing all those celebs looking like normal people make me feel better about the way I look in a swimsuit? No, not really. Did knowing that we’re all getting old and saggy together put a little skip in my step? Nope. Getting older stinks, no matter who’s getting old with you.

But do I feel better knowing that, as I get older and fatter, at least I don’t live a life where a photographer is hanging out in the bushes outside my house waiting to snap a photo of my Spandex-tragedy self horking down a hot dog in a string bikini? You betcha!

Sometimes being a nobody has its privileges.

Recently even Miley Cyrus has been taking on Twaters (Twitter + Haters = Twaters) for  calling her fat. Well, I have a message for Miley: Don’t let those Twerps (Mean People + Too Much Time on Their Hands = Twerps) get you down. Thighs that “jiggle for three Mississippis” are no big deal. At least not to ordinary, quite jiggly people like me.

Just wait till you’ve got arm flab that keeps going for “six Supercalifragilistics” after you wave hello to someone. That’s a bad day, let me tell you. At this point, I’d kill for thighs that jiggle for “three Mississippis.” In fact, I’d kill for thighs that didn’t actually jiggle the Mississippi when I walk too close to Memphis.

Of course, if a photographer happens to be hanging in the bushes on the banks of the Mighty Mississipp’ when I walk by, the ensuing percussion could topple him and his unflattering photos of Tyra, Russell Crowe and forever-handsome-no-matter-what-the-photos-say Val Kilmer right into the river.

Now that’s a picture that’d make anyone feel better.

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