I’ve already made peace with the extra ten pounds I possess and the fact that they afford me the ability to eat cake, so the proliferation of moms with thigh gap on the pool deck is totally not affecting my self-esteem, I swear. Normally the kids and I have the pool to ourselves, so I really have no freaking clue where they all came from, but like I said, it’s totally not bothering me at all. I’m not comparing my cellulite to my neighbors’ firm, brown thighs, and I’m not even going to mention their perfectly round boobs (seriously, are those for real?), every set of them precariously supported by strapless bikini tops.

I can’t help wondering, do their kids really never pull down their bikini tops? If I wore a strapless top like that, the chances of one of my kids absent-mindedly yanking it off would be one hundred percent. But I’m not going to speculate as to what sorcery these women possess to make those types bathing suit choices possible, because I’m totally confident and done with trying to be perfect.

One of the thigh gap ladies squats down at the edge of the pool with a glob of sunblock on her fingertips, and reaches for a little blonde boy. She balances on her toes in a position I doubt I could pull off. “Come here, Carter! Come’ere, honey. Come’ere. Carter. CARTER. COME. HERE. NOW. One… two… Don’t make me get to three, Carter!

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Kristen Mae is a novelist, freelancer, classical musician, and artist. Follow her on Abandoning Pretense, and check out her books, Beyond the Break and Red Water, available now at most online booksellers.

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