We just returned from a few days in Florida.
In my vaca-inspired fantasy, I thought my pictures would look something like this:
1. Salt-licked, cascading curls.
2. Butt dents and rippling abs.
3. Glowing tan.
In bleak reality, here is what the pictures actually reavealed:
1. Frizzy clown hair.
2. Cellulite and muffin tops.
3. Blistering burns where I missed sunscreen (the rest of my body ass-white).
As if blisters, frizz, and cellulite wasn't enough to scare everyone, there was accidental porn.
As the salty waves crashed in, my top turn sideways. I didn't actually realize it until I started walking back to shore. I don't know if it's the salt or what, but that shit is like novacaine. I couldn't feel my misplaced top at all. Now I know how Tara Reid feels.
My poor 6 year old looked at me and said, "Uh, mom? Your uh, boobies..." and then made a sweeping gesture across her chest in case I didn't get the point that I was currently an involuntary porn star.
But hey, I didn't go on vacation for the pictures, right? I went for the experience and it delivered in spades. We read books, make sand art, bonded with the in-laws, drank Corona (which tastes so much better on a beach), and laughed with our daughters.
If blisters and accidental porn was the sacrifice, it was worth it.