Bikinis

(Caution!  Final photo in this blog post contains adult material.  Reader discretion advised.)

Carol and Roger were so focused on cycling Riccione, it was several days before we realized we had a beach right outside the front door of our hotel. 

The beach, called Lungo Mare, is 10 kilometers of what you see at the left, wedged in one next to the other.

This was not our beach.  You could tell because the umbrellas weren’t the right color.

Most Americans…the men at least…go to the beach for the scenery.  

Since Croatia is beyond the horizon, Roger had to settle for scenery closer at hand.

People on Italian beaches don’t have the same body self-image hang-ups as Americans. 

You don't have to have the body of Aphrodite to wear a bikini....

...or the body of Adonis to wear a swimsuit.

If you’re worried about an un-even tan line, there’s a simple cure.

Italian men…ever concerned with their machismo…appear to leave it at home when they come to the beach.  

Standing around and talking seemed the primary physical activity.

Which brings us to the point of this blog post.  Carol figured if all these other middle-aged women could strut about the beach in bikinis, she could as well.

TMI (too much image)