My long-unworn swimsuit was baggy around the rear where the elastic had lost its stretch but it would do. Black and nondescript would hide me.
Did I want to expose my wrinkles, lack of muscle tone and pockets of fat? A last-minute panic – I took a razor to some relevant bits of me, a minor improvement.
The thought of being surrounded by young, smooth-skinned, sleek bodies was horrifying. How could I not stare at the tattoos?
I was obliged to go.
The sight of large, unashamed ladies of all ages, bottoms, bellies and boobs, wobbling and barely restrained, brought tears to my eyes. Youth and beauty were not necessities, enjoyment was.
I’m off to buy a lime-green swimsuit for my next visit.
Linda writes fiction and non-fiction, has self-published two novels and (recently) a non-fiction, light-hearted book about living as a retiree in the French Alps. Currently, she loves writing short and very short fiction.
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