The photos that others took and then posted on Facebook told a different story.
I struggled to identify the blonde with the muffin-top and then horror hit as I recognized the backside of my own teal swimsuit.
Was a bit of hair down there the equivalent of the sarong I should've wrapped around my former six-pack?
I'm not only talking about the typical Arab girl like from Magreb, there's many type of Arab: Lebanese and Syrian are different from north African Arabs from Morocco and Algeria for example.
So tell me what do you think about anything that has to do with them, baladi, dark hair, curves, brown eyes, hairy...
My almost 50-year-old friend recently told me that "hers" isn't as pretty as it used to be -- she's growing back the hair.
That brave declaration led me to an awkward hour later that evening which involved a mirror and the many different positions I might've found myself in if I happened to be having porn sex. Nearly two decades later, widowed, and a few months past 50, I was questioning all sorts of things.
Something one might explain to a gynecologist or new lover with a chagrined, "I did that when I was I needed an age-appropriate male perspective. The woman who thinks she can still pull it off but can't and is the last one to know.
When questioned, a friend told me that he'd quit dating a woman because she was too old. Younger women know better." His opposing view only added to my indecision, so I conducted my own investigation. Always comfortable with my own nudity in the gym locker room, I now imagined the younger women around me catching a glimpse of my hair-free zone and thinking, .
I clarified that she was 15 years younger yet he insisted her age was the issue. While in the locker room, I sat on a bench and pretended to text as I discretely checked out the ladies. I've decided it's time to call on the professionals.
I started getting a monthly Brazilian wax in my 30s. Lofty ponderings such as the meaning of life, my own journey of reinvention, and could I find love again?
Why not add another that only the most enlightened woman on her own spiritual pilgrimage might ask: Bald or bush?
At the end of the 60-minute self-exploration I confidently declared, "Well, mine is still pretty," and then had a flashback to my summer beach vacation.
The same wise friend had transitioned to one-piece swimwear. , I thought as I strutted from my beach chair to the sea.