Cindy Crawford--what a hag

We took a trip last week to the world's largest model train shop, conveniently located in Denver. It was pretty amazing...for the first half hour. Then I grew weary of looking at what must have been about 7,000 miles of train track and arguing about which is better, G gauge or HO.

Fortunately, this store knows their audience and the parents of their audience. They have a nice little sitting area next to the Thomas train table with mom-sized chairs and copies of gossip mags. I settled in with Star Magazine to read about the Best and Worst Beach Bodies of 2007.

The best bods were the usual suspects: Hayden Panettiere, Jessica Alba, Eva Longoria, and other hot young things whose vocation it is to look like babes on the beach for the paparazzi. But guess who was the worst? Roseanne Barr? Barbara Bush? No. It was Cindy Crawford. And indirectly, it was me.

Why was Cindy Crawford such an affront to the eyes of beachgoers this year? It's not like she was 750 pounds and wearing a G-string. She didn't have a life-sized tattoo of Yosemite Sam across her front section. She had the nerve to be a mom over 25 wearing a bikini. You could see her stretch marks, which apparently causes the editors of Star to throw up inside their mouths a little.

Because, ew! Here's a woman in her FORTIES who has had two kids and still looks pretty awesome. Every curve is where it's supposed to be. The only difference between her and the best bods is a little extra skin on the abdomen. But gosh, that really offended Star Magazine. So much so, that of all the people on the beach this year, she was the WORST. Never mind that I was sitting in a model train store and every single person in there would look several orders of magnitude worse than Cindy Crawford were they on a beach in Mustique.

Seeing that really kicked me in the ass. Or the stomach, as it were. I am 38 years old. I am a mom. I am in pretty good shape. Yet, I have stretch marks. Oh, the humanity. I wish I could have kept the smooth belly of my 20s forever, but a funny thing happened. I carried two gigantic children. That tends to stretch things out a little. I didn't think that was a huge deal. But apparently every time I walk out on the deck of Spruce Pool, I'm tempting the other patrons to gouge their eyes out. According to Star Magazine, am I now relegated to bathing skirts and demure mom cuts? God I hope not. Yesterday I walked by the racks of extremely cute bikinis at Target and thought, can I really not wear that anymore? Really? 'Cause what a shame.

Oh my god, the comments about Cindy's bod. How can you go out like that? Cover up! Get a tummy tuck! Let me tell you something. At one point after Tea was born, I looked into a tummy tuck, to reduce the sheer amount of extra skin I now have there. And you know what? Not only does it cost about $10,000, but it is MAJOR SURGERY. With a fairly unpleasant recovery time. Do I really want to spend ten large for the privilege of sitting on my ass for two months, waiting to heal? Just so I can look 22 from the neck down? NO. I'd rather buy an awesome custom bike, or go to Thailand for a month. I hope Cindy feels the same way.

Context aside, I was inspired by that photo. Here's a woman who has spent her whole life living up to the beauty myth. Now she has done her time and she is being herself, with her family. And she is still beautiful. More beautiful than 99 percent of beachgoers. And infinitely more stunning than the Star Magazine staff, who, on their best day, probably resemble the cast of Fraggle Rock. No tummy tuck will fix that, bitches.

I hear Jessica Alba is pregnant. Jessica, just remember--you can buy a lot of baby clothes for 10 grand, and still have enough left over for a rockin' bikini.