Lumpy Ladies

Lumpy Ladies

The missus came outta the hair stylist's the other day with a marine haircut of the kind that Seven Minute Gus used to give (rest his army soul). She consoled herself with the fact that number one: she would never go back there again an' number two: it would eventually grow out, just in time for her to go travelin'.

Well that was the start of a whole lot of soul searchin' about womanly appearance. We're inundated daily on the TV about goin' on diets to lose weight an' have the perfect body, or buyin' this or that exercise equipment to produce the perfect body. An' now they got them clothes that'll mold yer lumpy gut into a slim, shapely body too. Well, that done it! The string of oratory comin' outta the Missus' mouth don't even rhyme with anythin' I could write down here.

They got them there blue jeans nowadays what slide on neat an' easy while at the same time tuckin' in yer sloppy gut an' saddle bags so's you look twenty pounds slimmer an' twenty years younger than you actually are. What'll they think up next? Kinda reminds me of an old joke about the bridegroom peeking through the bathroom transom window, watching in horror as his bride prepares herself for the conjugal bed. Well, I can't rightly quote the punch line but you old guys know what it is anyways.

The whole point of this tirade is to figure out what in blazes women are tryin' to prove, buyin' in to this kind o' nonsense. I mean, do they wanna look nice or do they wanna look like somebody else altogether? I don't know what side o' that question the answer is on, but I do know that when all that junk comes off, there's an entirely different person standin' there, an' that's a fact.

What a shock that must be - especially for the woman standin' in front of the mirror an' not recognizin' who she's lookin' at. Oh gawd! I'm too fat! (She cries a tear or two). Too fat for what? You mean too fat to be sixteen again? Well yeah, but you ain't been sixteen for forty - plus years for crimeny sakes.

The thing is that all this paintin' an' primpin' an' tuckin' in an' coverin' up comes to a screetchin' halt when the lady in question gets home from an outin' an' like a person on a mission, frantically removes all the stuff she had so meticulously applied and pulled on earlier until, (with a sigh of relief) she is back to what her partner knew her to be in the first place. Go figure. At least that's how it seems to me from up here on the top shelf.

Just sayin'.