By Jane Bokun
The other day I was at the beach and there was a group of youngish women there having a grand picnic/drunken hoedown.
They were laughing, cussing and hard to ignore, and about five of them were standing in the water when I decided, “I’m at the beach,” “I should swim off some calories and depression.” To be fair, I was reading “Girl, Stop Apologizing” a great book by Rachel Hollis. It tells women they can be what they want – freely and openly.
The blackish water was rolling and there were several waves, but I wasn’t going to let that stop me. If it stops me, I said to myself, I deserve to go to my watery grave because I truly am an out-of-shape old woman.
The rowdy gang of women saw me leaving to swim and yelled, “you go grandma.”
You go grandma? Geez, this age is humbling and even worse when you can’t afford a face lift.
“Did I hear them right?” I thought. Surely they were saying you go girl or goyle like in gargoyle, anything but grandma (mainly because I don’t have grandchildren yet (see above paragraph). I might have welcomed the name if I had them). I made it out to the buoy and touched it with the vigor that one adapts to kiss a Blarney Stone. Then I swam back.
Those younger women were watching me the whole time. When I got to the beach, they said, You’re living your best life aren’t you? Are you some kind of a triathlete?”
“Not even close,” I thought.