Call it the husband’s dilemma.
There I am on the beach with my wife and daughter in Jamaica, enjoying our vacation in the sunshine. We’re surrounded by dozens of others, all doing the same, and the occasional beach hustlers who want to rent you a jetski for a half-hour ride, sell you cigars, or braid your hair (and they’ll do anyone — I saw a sunburned white guy with his braided hair partially covered by a knit cap, which made him look like Joe-Bob Marley).
Some of the women have opted not to wear their bikini tops. I’m not talking about when they’re lying on their stomach on a lounge chair trying to get a strapless back tan. I’m talking about full frontal toplessness. Most of these women, judging by their accents, are European, so they’re used to it. Far too many of them shouldn’t be. Sometimes immodesty is a bad thing, and covering up would do us all a favor.
However, on this morning, two young women nearby were both topless and very attractive. And thus, my dilemma.
It began when they got up from their lounge chairs and started rubbing suntan lotion all over each other, slowly. It continued as they proceeded into the shallow water to frolick and splash around for awhile. What’s a happily married man to do when presented with this live fantasy view?
a) ignore them and go back to reading my book
b) glance at them whenever my wife’s not glancing at me
c) stare and don’t care
Okay, let’s be honest; option A is not really a choice. It’s going to be between B and C or, more likely, a combination of the two. As for my wife, she noticed, but didn’t mind. And when I asked my teenage daughter what she thought, she told me she’d seen it last year when her youth group was in Europe and it didn’t bother her at all. On the other hand, she was grossed out by the fat guys on the beach wearing a Speedo.
The truth is, most of us aren’t the subject of gawking at the beach. I had thought about this at the airport before we even left St. Louis, checking out the other passengers to see if any of them might be worth seeing mostly unclothed. Sadly, few of them qualified. Then I realized that’s what they were probably thinking when they looked over at me.
At least I don’t wear a Speedo. Then it would be option D — avert your gaze until you can find another spot on the beach.