When I turned off the shower and started toweling off, I could hear three women in the locker area talking about the benefits of the juice cleanse they were on.
“I added a banana to my kale smoothie this morning and I’m like , not even hungry and it’s 2:30!”
“Kristen, I don’t think bananas are approved until day three.”
“They aren’t? But they have so much potassium Erika, what can it hurt?”
They sounded young, perky, and thin and when I got out of the shower, I realized they were.
Two years ago, or ten years ago, or 20 years ago, I would have waited until I heard them leave before stepping out of the shower stall. Or if I was in a hurry, I’d have rushed past them with the inadequate towel barely covering my body, my head down, (if I can’t see you, you can’t see me) dying inside that they’d be able to see my hip and belly bulging out of the slit where the two sides of the terrycloth didn’t meet. I’d have been mortified that the tiny scrap of fabric didn’t overlap all the way around my tits and tuck neatly under my arm like in a shampoo commercial. I’d have spent the short time it took me to dress turned away from them, trying to hide my giant-self from their mascaraed gaze. I would have vainly tried to comfort myself with the hope that they weren’t really looking at me.
This time though, this day, I walked past them with my head up. And even though the towel still barely covered me (even less than it used to) and my round belly and hip were definitely on display, I was thinking of how holding the terry cloth closed over my chest with one arm made my breasts curve up in beautiful, lush mounds. I was hoping maybe these vegetable drinkers were looking and noticing that. I was thinking it felt kind of sexy to be barely covered by a towel with my ass cheeks showing and my hip hanging out. I was thinking, “Hmmm, I look kind of hot like this and juice cleanses are stupid.”