It's a scorching day at the Little League diamond and a little girl in a pink bathing suit passes by. I say passes, but really it's more of a sashay. She's a cute little thing, 3 or 4, prancing barefoot, carefree.
I watch her dawdle, oblivious to anyone else, caught up in her own world of play and pretend. I try to remember the last time I felt that carefree in a bathing suit--just a few short nevers ago--and wonder what happens to take us from carefree bathing beauties to self-conscious sarong-wearers.
Is it because of school yard kids pointing out our flaws? The assault of airbrushed images of impossibly beautiful women? Maybe it's the commercials convincing us we need their products to cover our hideous flaws?
Maybe it's a combination of all the above, I'm not sure, but I have a nostalgic moment watching that little girl. I long for that total lack of self-consciousness, wish there were some way to get it back, some way to reverse the cultural damage and see the world through innocent eyes. Until then, I guess I'll buy myself a nice wide sarong for the summer and maybe a cover-up to boot.