2. My Midriff!

Day two and I'm in reflective mood. In my youth I yearned for perfection. As you can see, I never achieved it! But now, in my old age, I can rejoice at Life's delicious little bonuses. The little triumph of which I write, here, is a secret pleasure!

MY MIDRIFF

I'll never have a mottled midriff.

My diaphragm is white as snow.

For I never wore a brief bikini

In the days of long ago.

There were huzzies who displayed their glory

With a little strip of this or that.

Whose bosoms were all small and cheeky

And whose stomachs were completely flat.

How I envied them their long tanned bodies,

As they glistened and they baked and boiled!

While admiring men hovered round them

Making certain that each limb was oiled.

Every one of them was so appealing.

Their bikinis were so ......... almost-there,

And the sun shone down on every midriff

As it showed itself all taut and bare.

And their midriffs glowed a honey colour

With a healthy, oh so sexy shine.

While one unhappy little midriff

Was covered and that was mine!

I could say I was shy and modest,

I could say that my thoughts were pure,

I could say I was saving my beauty

For a love that would endure.

I could say that I wasn't jealous

I could say that I didn't care.

I could say when they bared their midriffs

That I didn't turn a hair!

But, would you believe my story?

Or would you merely snort,

Knowing that I was freckly

And plumpish and dull and short.

How I longed to be oiled and worshipped!

How I yearned to be tanned and lean,

But my midriff was rather flabby

Not the sort that should be seen!

So I wore a neat little one-piece,

Shirr-elastic was the craze.

And I kept my podge of a midriff

Away from the public gaze.

Now I see them when I'm out shopping,

Those goddesses of the past,

And I realise godess status

Isn't designed to last.

I can't see beneath their jumpers

Or their track-suits or their frocks

But I bet their glorious midriffs

Have taken some hard knocks.

I bet they're looking wrinkled

And mottled and past their best.

I bet they're secretly happy

That they're not displayed undressed!

The bathroom mirror reveals mine

Still a vague sort of untanned beige.

But I realise I was saving it

To enjoy in my old age!

It is Perfect, just like alabaster,

Still flabby but smoothly designed,

A little bit creased and dimpled

But innocent, young and unlined.

Whereas theirs are all freckled and wrinkly,

All mottled, a sun-scarred disgrace.........
If only I'd worn my swimsuit

Pulled right up over my face!