As-is

My father-in-law used to say he'd rather see a chubby girl in a bikini than a skinny girl in a beach sarong. He thought a half-nude fatty filled with confidence (and hotdogs) was more attractive than a skinny little thing that thinks she's fat. It was easy to agree at the time because I was a half-nude skinny little thing with no sarong.

My body was (is) far from perfect. I lacked (lack) long legs, big boobs and a nice booty, but I worked with what I had and accepted what I didn't. (Take note, the second part of that sentence is only in past tense.)

The day Bob referred to my legs as cannons was a real blow; a small torso atop two unshapely tubes. But the day after, I found the compliment. I may not have had buns of steel, but at least to one, I had legs of iron.

25 years later when I see a smiling, chubby girl on the beach I think of Bob. And I also think of him when I shamefully grab my cover up. In the past I hoped for beautiful beach days to strut my stuff (even though I lacked stuff). Now I hope for clouds and a breeze to justify the wrap and hide my pockmarked cannons.
 
It would be much easier if I believed the fact that women gain weight with age, metabolism slows, things shift and menopause wreaks havoc on everything, but I still insist on disbelieving. And I know I'm not the only disbeliever or there wouldn't be so many websites, therapists, talk show hosts and former First Ladies trying to convince us to embrace our age and girth.

I wasn't given a middle name at birth. With a funny first name and a laborious last name my parents were wise to leave out the middle one. As a kid I filled in the blank with Jean or Anne or Louise; whatever struck my fancy. But in the past few years I've been calling myself "Tenley As-was Ysseldyke". It's a bit depressing because she doesn't exist anymore.

Every time I change my clothes, take a long run or catch a glimpse of my reflection I search for Tenley As-was but she's never there. I'm not dumb enough to look for her on the back of the milk carton, but I still look for her everywhere else and her absence is terrifying. I think it's time to befriend Tenley As-is.

Middle names accentuate accusations and underline anger. "Tenley, finish that pizza before you start dessert" isn't quite as effective as, "Tenley As-is Ysseldyke, you're not leaving that table until you eat all that ice cream." And if it really were my middle name and I accepted myself As-is instead of as Jean or Louise or Anne maybe I wouldn't feel guilty about cleaning my plate (a.k.a. pizza box and gelato cup).

I'm ready to start practicing my new signature. Give me a form with a box for a middle initial and instead of leaving it blank I'll put an 'A'. For the first time I'll order a monogrammed L.L.Bean beachbag with three initials. This summer if a friend at the beach invites me over for a nutella sandwich with her kids I'll think of Bob. I'll leave my sarong in the bag and head over with a confident, pudgy smile.