When in France, Sunbathe Topless

August 9, 2006



August 9, 2006

So, the children are gone. They left with Madame this morning. She is driving them to Brittany to stay with relatives for two weeks. Thus my summer holiday begins. The master of the house slept in while I took my daily hike in the woods behind the villa and swam laps in the pool. Monsieur commented over lunch that I am becoming quite the French woman. I have conquered French traffic, become a lover of fine French wine, and you will be happy to know that I finally tried le stinky cheese. It was what I expected, very, very strong. No wonder the French enjoy wine with pungent cheese, it dulls your senses and makes you jolly no matter what you consume

While Monsieur was taking his daily after lunch siesta (something as French as sunbathing topless), I decided to take another dip in the pool. Yes, I know, tough job. After a few laps I decided the sun was perfect to even out my farmer’s tan, so I nervously slathered on some suntan oil, turn on my iPod and grabbed a glass of chilled vin rose for courage. Ten minutes later my boss was off for the day and so was my bikini top. Allow me to preface, if you don’t know me well enough, I am very bashful. I don’t change my clothes in front of girlfriends, share dressing rooms, or feel comfortable in revealing clothing. I have sisters that would have whipped off their tops their first day in France, but I blush if someone sees too deeply down my top. I can only imagine what my mother is thinking as she reads this, but going topless while sunning oneself is one's God given right in France. Just the other day I took the kids to the beach and most women were basking in the sun without tops in full sight of an audience of all ages. In France little girls swim in only bikini bottoms until they are 6, then, as I have noted from observation, they resume this dress in their adult years as they see fit. So in actuality, I am not all that brave, sunbathing topless in the total privacy of the villa's sun deck makes me a bit of a prude by French standards. The villa is secured on all sides by seven feet tall hedges, so there was no danger of peeping toms. French women of all sizes are proud of every inch of their bodies, no matter the shape. A bit of that is beginning to rub off on me because feeling comfortable enough in my own skin to sunbathe topless gives a sense of accomplishment. I didn’t have to wait until I was a size 4 again to feel at ease in my own skin. I inhale and exclaim aloud, “the boss is right, I am becoming more and more a French woman every day”.

As the warm summer sun and Vivaldi's "Four Seasons" gently lulls me to sleep. Suddenly I am awoken by a man standing over me, telling me in French that he is the plumber and asking where my employers were. I don't know how long he stood over me, but I quickly noticed that he was gentlemanly enough to cover me up before waking me. I can hear my mother giving me a good old-fashioned "I told you so" and "what would your great grandmother think" but I wasn’t as embarrassed as I thought I would have been and neither was the plumber. The older gentleman was so matter-of-fact about the whole experience that I suspected he only covered me as not to frighten the unliberated American. After he fixed the sink he bade me "bonjour", I resumed my topless sunbathing, reminding myself to be sure to lock the main gate and turn on the intercom before whipping off my top.