In a few days, my husband and I will be leaving the kids with grandma and grandpa and boarding a cruise ship. I couldn’t be more excited.

I have never been on a cruise before. And so like any newbie would be, I have been dreaming of crystal blue waters, sun on my face, and four days of vacation with my husband.

But there is another part of me that is starting to freak out. We are going on a cruise. In February.

February. After three months of unabashed gluttonous eating and wool sweater wearing. It brings to mind two loathed words: chubby and pale.

Yup. Nothing says, “body image crisis” like donning a bathing suit in February in front of 2,000 people. Possibly the worst part about the whole crisis is my lack of ambition to do much about it. My feeble attempts at exercise would make Jillian Michaels head spin. And my resolve to eat only fruit and vegetables for the next six weeks, lasts about as long as it takes to walk by a plate of free cookies at our hotel. Traveling does not lend itself well to dieting, I might add. I’ve often said that if I were to create a restaurant, it would be one that sells peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and bananas, and all those other things that are sitting in my cabinet and fridge back home.

(Sigh.) Anyway, if I am not going to be Pamela Andersen on our cruise, I might as well, suck it up (or in), put on my swimsuit, forget all my worries, and enjoy four days of freedom from wiping macaroni and cheese off the walls.

Besides, maybe no one else will notice me after all: they’ll be too busy looking at Pamela.