By Celia Rivenbark
McClatchy-Tribune News Service.
Oh, goody! It’s time for the “Sports Illustrated” swimsuit edition to land in the old mailbox. Can’t. Hardly. Wait.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not like those school librarians that write the magazine every year to protest the scandalous pictures. (And I’ve never understood why they can’t just intercept the one copy if it bugs them so much…)
These women are gorgeous and I hate them for it like any normal, middle-aged, no-longer-just-slightly overweight American mother should.
But this is the much ballyhooed 50TH ANNIVERSARY edition and it hurts more than usual, sneaking a peek online, to see that age and motherhood don’t matter to supermodels.
There’s Christie Brinkley at 60 looking pretty much like she did back in the ’80s. And Heidi Klum, looking amazing after having had eleventybillion children.
Looking at the well-rounded Kate Upton smirking at me from the mailbox for the past two years, I thought, “Ha! See you in 20 years, Toots!” As it turns out, that probably won’t be a big deal. And she will romp onto another anniversary cover doing that weird little Clydesdale, one-hoof-in-the-air prance picture just like always.
And I will wonder, taking a break from my morning oatmeal with flax seed at the “home,” how it is possible for so many tall women to weigh 110 pounds and a good 40 percent of that is in the, uh, boobal area.
Tyra Banks paired with Upton for the “SI legends” shoot looks radiant and svelte as ever. I looked into those famous cat-eyes for a hint of jealousy and saw only contentment. BORE-ing.
Now that I’ve had a chance to flip through the issue, I have a few observations that have nothing whatsoever with my own inner witch.
First off, Hannah Ferguson. Does your mama know you’re not wearing a bathing suit top? I think I know the answer to that. It reminds me of my friend who asked the hussy having an affair with her husband: “Have you been saved?” and the hussy said, “No,” and the friend narrowed her eyes a little and said, “I didn’t think so.”
And you, Emily Ratajkowski. Quit kissing your fingertips and looking like you’ve got a secret. It’s not seductive. You look like Stefan in “Saturday Night Live.”
Yoo-hoo! Lauren Mellor. Your great-grandfather may have crawled on a beach on his belly like that but that was in Normandy. Now pick yourself up and act like a nice girl. Nice girls don’t slither or sit on boulders in thongs or wear bikinis made entirely of pointed metal that could put your eye out just because somebody with a camera tells them to.
Chanel Iman: You’re the newbie and probably the prettiest of them all but your poses make you look circus freakish. Nobody looks good lying in the ocean with their legs bent at the knee behind them. You reminded me of Robert Redford when he finally gave up in “All is Lost.” You’re welcome ladies.
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(Celia Rivenbark is the author of “Rude Bitches Make Me Tired” and six other humor collections. Visit www.celiarivenbark.com)
