Patsy, 68, was surprised when her daughter-in-law Janice made fun of her “wrinkled body” in a now-deleted Facebook comment after she shared a happy swimwear photo from her holiday. Donald, Patsy’s husband, had previously seen the statement and had come up with a plan to discipline Janice.
Okay, so tell me straight: is there a minimum age to wear a swimsuit? “Heck no, Patsy!” is probably what the majority of you kind people would say. Bless your hearts.
As it happens, my own daughter-in-law is the one member of this family who seems to have a different point of view.
Let me go back a little before you get all worked up. My husband Donald and I, who are both in our late sixties, returned from our eagerly anticipated trip to Miami Beach a week ago.
Since those boisterous grandkids took over our living room, it had been our first time traveling alone, just the two of us, lovers. Let me tell you, our renewed romance was much enhanced by the Florida sunshine!
You know, we felt like kids again.
We challenged ourselves to get up at seven in the morning rather than five, ate enough fresh seafood to make our arteries sing, and took long, hand-in-hand walks along that pristine white beach.
Donald lavished me with praise one afternoon while I was sporting this stunning black two-piece swimsuit. We paused for a brief kiss, the kind that, even after all these years, still makes your stomach turn.
Unexpectedly, a charming young girl with a big smile and lots of light came skittering up to us. Before we knew it, she had pulled out her phone and snapped a picture of me in my go-to black two-piece and Donald in his ridiculous flowery swimming trunks (bless his brave spirit!).
I got a tear in my eye as I looked at the photo, honey.
Yes, we were no longer teenagers, but the affection in that photo? Young at heart, golden, and pure. It’s a sort of souvenir, you see, and I even plucked up the nerve to ask the little darling to send it across.
I couldn’t help but post that photo on Facebook when I got home, the sun still sticking to my skin like a fond memory.
The comments area began to fill up more quickly than a Thanksgiving pie dish.
“You two look so cute, Patsy!” “Couple goals!” and other such sentimental statements.
Then, wham! My daughter-in-law Janice’s statement hit me like a pail of frigid water on my joyous occasion:
My mouth nearly fell on the ground. “Wrinkled”? “Grosssss”? Every phrase felt like a rusty nail being driven into my heart as I read the post again..
This time, the tears came hot and furious. I was certain Donald would be furious. I grabbed a screenshot of the comment right away, and presto! It simply disappeared.
I realized then that there was a problem with the removed comment. The whole situation was made worse by the fact that Janice must have intended to send it secretly. It was painful, and it was sneaky.
Feeling as useless as a submarine’s screen door, I sat in my bedroom and stared at my phone’s screen till my eyes burned.
A part of me wanted to cry and snuggle up, while another part of me wanted to vent to that girl.
I didn’t want to tell Donald, though, for heavens sake. When it comes to me, that man’s protective streak is as broad as the Mississippi.
Donald entered at that very moment, presumably curious as to why I had been hiding up here ever since we arrived home. His smile vanished as quickly as a hot potato once he took one look at my face.
He sat next me on our bed and whispered, “Sugar, what’s eating at you?”
I lied and tried to seem as upbeat as a jaybird. “Oh, nothing.” “I’m just a little exhausted from the journey.”
That man can read me better than his morning newspaper now, after 46 years of marriage. He gave me that expression, you know, where his brows furrow like two anxious caterpillars.
“Don’t you try covering my eyes with wool, Patsy,” he warned. Why do you appear to have lost your dearest friend?
Well, I burst into tears at that same moment. I showed him the screenshot of Janice’s offensive remark while crying.
I’ve seen Donald become upset before, but this time? This was not like the others. His hands began to shake and his face flushed.
He paced our bedroom, yelling, “How DARE she?” “How dare that little snippy person make fun of my lovely wife?”
Then his eyes took on that expression he gets when he’s preparing something.
He stopped abruptly and continued, “We need to talk about that upcoming family barbecue.”
“How about it?” I asked, using a tissue to dab at my eyes.
“I propose that everyone be invited. He grinned and said, “The entire church group, your bridge club ladies, all the cousins, everyone.” “I have an idea that will teach Miss Janice some valuable lessons about respect.”
“Now, Donald,” I objected, “I don’t want to be involved in whatever you’re planning. We don’t have to become like her.
“Trust me, sugar,” he murmured, simply patting my palm. People may require a wake-up call to realize their mistakes.
I immediately brushed it off, assuming he would calm down by morning like he normally does. I was mistaken about that one, Lord!
I’m getting ahead of myself, but if I had realized what that man had in store for our family cookout, well.
Our barbeque night was a tremendous success. There was a lot of laughter in our backyard, along with the sizzling of burgers on the grill and the aroma of my delicious potato salad.
Everyone we cared about was present. Our church group, my bridge club women, all of my cousins, and even old Mrs. Henderson from down the street. That is, everyone but Janice.
But ever since she married our boy, that girl has been fashionably late to everything.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed her saunter in like she was walking a Parisian runway while I was fussing over the coleslaw. I’ll tell you what, that expensive purse of hers probably cost more than my first automobile. She flashed that rehearsed smile throughout the throng.
Donald’s voice boomed across the yard as I turned to talk to my friend Betty about her grandson’s plans for college.
“All right, everyone, please take a moment to relax,” he said, tapping his glass with a spoon. “I would like to share a special moment with my beautiful wife, Patsy, from my trip to Miami.”
When I watched him take out his phone, my heart almost leaped out of my chest. On the white sheet we had hung up for the grandkids’ movie nights, our beach shot was displayed on the screen, larger than life.
The crowd let out a collective “Aww!” that was as sweet as honey. My heart grew proud, yet my cheeks turned as rosy as a sunset.
I had absolutely no notion what my man was up to. I was simply moved by his desire to let everyone know about our special event.
Donald went on to say, “This picture symbolizes 46 years of love, friendship, and trust.” My Patsy’s laugh lines, wrinkles, and gray hair all tell the tale of our shared life. And I wouldn’t alter a thing.
“Oh, Aunt Patsy, you look stunning in that bathing suit!” With a voice as sweet as artificial sugar, Janice spoke up from the rear.
Donald’s expression darkened.
“Really?” he questioned in a hushed voice. “You didn’t say that before.”
He changed the image to that screenshot I assumed he had forgotten about before I could blink. Everyone could observe Janice’s nasty remarks.
Donald declared, “Someone in this very room felt it was appropriate to age-shame my wife and her love for me.”
In that yard, you could have heard a pin drop. Janice’s eyes darted about as if she was looking for a way out, and she appeared whiter than a ghost in a flour mill.
Donald went on, staring at Janice, “I want to make something very clear.”
Until Donald cleared his throat and said, “Now, who wants more of that potato salad?” the tension in the air was high.
The spell was suddenly broken. People resumed filling their plates and chatting, though I saw that Janice was getting a lot of side-eyes.
Later that night, while I was setting out dessert plates, Janice came up to me and started crying.
“Patsy, I’m so sorry,” she muttered. “What I wrote was inconsiderate and harsh. I swear I will never act in such a manner again.
I felt my heart soften as I gazed at her wobbling chin and mascara-streaked cheeks.
“Janice, it takes guts to own up to your mistakes,” I said softly. “Thank you for your apology.”
The good Lord occasionally works in mysterious ways, using even a family BBQ and a beach photo to impart valuable lessons about respect, love, and aging gracefully.
What are everyone’s thoughts? Was Donald overstepping his bounds? Leave a comment with your ideas!
