LifePundit

We Don't Show Our Bosoms before 4:00 O'Clock

I'm in a crisis. It's funny, the things that come to you in a crisis. Things you think you remember but can't find any evidence of. And the headline for this post shows how I am already in the midst of a battle I am losing.

First off, I said "we don't show our bosoms."

And now I'm negotiating not to show them before 4:00.

Didn't Mammy say that in Gone with the Wind? "We don't show our bosoms before four o'clock." I can see her talking to Scarlet while the rest of the girls are napping and Scarlet has A Plan. Hence, she needs to show her bosoms before 4:00. Or was it 5:00?

At what time of life and time of day is it all right to show our bosoms? From the look of things on TV, as soon as you wake up is a good time to be showing your bosoms (note -- I am talking about low-cut frocks, not naked skin). Coffee and bosoms every morning on the news. And do hospital administrators really dress like Dr. Cuddy on "House"? My den overfloweth with images of overflowing, button-stressed tops.

A couple of weekends ago Lily and I went dress shopping for a dress for her for church confirmation and for middle-school graduation. (Didn't I already whine about this? Well, if I did, I'm not done.) There were NO dresses that didn't show bosoms. My child is 14. She shouldn't even have bosoms. I think she should leave them home in a box, under the bed. Save them for later. But no. She has bosoms and the fashion designers have plans for them.

They are to be emancipated. Yes, as soon as bosoms sprout, they are to be displayed, set free, let loose upon the world. Yes, the dresses are even pretty. But pretty doesn't equal appropriate.

On our very painful shopping trip, Lily picked out several dresses. Hmmmm. Lots of spaghetti straps. Dresses that were nothing more than bikinis with skirts attached. So I went through the racks (no pun intended) looking for more modest clothes (we were in major department stores, not your local Hookers 'r' Us), and they were not there. There are no modest clothes. We are all hookers now.

So, we tried to do the best with what they had. Lily looked stunning. Like a sexy 25-year-old. She'd have to wear a nametag that ready, "Sorry. I'm really 14." with any of these dresses.

We haggled. We negotiated. I looked back through the racks. There were two other mothers in the dressing room, and we were all having the same argument with our 14-year-old daughters.

"You're not planning on wearing THAT, are you?"

Why yes. And before 4:00. In fact, before I'm 16. Before I'm 18. Before your very eyes.

Well, one of the dresses was marked down to $12 and actually was lovely, except for the fact that there was no fabric across the bustline. So I told Lily she could get it if she wore a camisole. She agreed. And tonight she tried on the dress with a camisole. She said it looked terrible and made her look like a hillbilly.

Better a hillbilly than something else.

Hear that stomping? That's me putting my foot down. I'm getting quite a rhythm going. Pretty soon it will be a real 'ho-down.

I may have a new play, though. Something that will be a real game-changer. Okay. She can show her bosoms.

Two can play at that game. Or would this make it four? I, too, have bosoms. And I'm not afraid to use them. 

The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, though some apples may have fallen a lot farther South than others. But you didn't need to know that.

Yes, I have a plan. Can there be anything worse than having your mother show up somewhere not fully dressed? And there's only one thing that will stop me.

"When I say, 'WE don't show our bosoms,' I mean 'WE.' You show yours, and I'll show mine."

I will win. This time.

The Old Goat Eats Goat

Okay, you're on an island that's supposed to have the best restaurants in the Caribbean. So what do you do? If you're my husband, you go to a seaside cafe in Phillipsburg and.... you order GOAT for lunch.

Some things you just aren't supposed to eat. No wonder they're all in a tree.

more cat pictures

What Kind of Pants Would You Stab Someone For?

There's a strange local news story about a 36-year-old man who stabbed a teenager at a convenience store "over a pair of pants." The teenager is in the hospital and the grown man is in jail.

I think it should be illegal for a reporter to leave us hanging with a story like that. Read it yourself and see if you don't come away with the same question:

What kind of pants were they?

Where did the pants come from? Do they sell pants in convenience stores? What kind of pants are so desirable that you'd stab someone over them?

Is there a pants shortage? Are these pants that would make my butt look small? Can I stab somebody and get a pair?

I wrote the reporter asking for more info. on the pants. I explained to him that I need this information to try to make sense of the world.

I'll let you know if I find out.

Now There's No Excuse NOT to Wear a Swimsuit.

This is a paid post. If you've been avoiding wearing a swimsuit because you couldn't find one that covered, contained, restrained or kept legal your, um, excess chestiness, well, the jig is up. Or is that jiggle? Anyway, we expect to find your fine self down on the beach. In the sun. Flaunting your voluptuous self. In one of BiggerBras.com full busted swimwear.
 

It really is no laughing matter (unless you take your daughter with you) if you're trying on swimsuits made for less-traditionally built women when suddenly you find yourself bursting forth. Or is that busting forth? No matter. You can get these online, so you can try them on in the privacy of your home. And you probably won't burst forth unless you're bigger than a DD or E. They look like really nice fabrics and designs (seriously!).

They have one-pieces that are very flattering (at least on their models) and the option to buy your bathing suit tops and bottoms separately for a nearly custom fit. Lots and lots of choices, too. It even says, "As seen on Oprah." Of course I don't watch Oprah, though I did run into her once at the beach. For real.

Men in Knickers

Hat tip to Instapundit on this little bit of news. If  you'll click  here, you'll be taken to a Brooks Brothers page advertising a jacket that looks too small for the model, who is also wearing knee socks and knickers.

Yes. An adult model, though he has that youngish Leonardo DiCarprio not-quite-heterosexual look.

At first glance, he looks ridiculous. At second glance, he looks ridiculous. At third glance, he looks ridiculous.

Then I started thinking. Hmmm. It would be nice to get a flash of a comely male calf every now and then.

And that's when my college education came into play. I distinctly remember Dr. Tyson saying, "Ladies, if a man wants to be a good Shakespearean actor, he has to have nice legs."

I see women's legs all the time. I only see men's legs on the tennis court or the beach. This is not fair.

At some point, I'll probably quit laughing at the Brooks Brothers model wearing knickers. Then I'll look at his legs.

Oh, I've been outdone. For even more inspiration or horror, please visit Classical Value's more in-depth post on this "trend," complete with a very interesting model.

Losing Your Taste

When you get older, you lose your tastes. I'm already in Mom Jeans. A friend of mine said that we are in "that age," kind of like between childhood and adolescence, when we didn't quite know what to wear. There are stores, such as Chico's (this is not an ad), that cater to grown-up women who have not given up (I swear the Mom Jeans look better than the alternative).

My 95-year-old father's done something kind of funny. All by accident. All because he's never been one to notice fashion. He's lost so much weight his clothes don't fit, so he got Saint Ike to take him clothes shopping. (Taking a man on oxygen who's supposed to be in a wheelchair shopping is more difficult than going shopping with six toddlers. He could fall anytime in any direction.) Ike helped him find blue jeans, which are definitely not Mom Jeans. Or Dad Jeans. My father called to report. "You need to see these new jeans. I'm not quite sure what I think of them. They've got pockets and chains and things all over them -- I don't know what anybody needs with all these pockets and things -- I won't remember where I put stuff -- but they fit real good."

My 95-year-old father is wearing Gangsta Jeans. With a belt, though they might just fall down anyway he's so skinny.

So I'm in Mom Jeans and my father is in Gangsta Jeans. That ought to even out into something in the Great Jeans Cosmos.

But that's not the taste I meant to write about. Did you know that as you age you lose your ability to taste? (I don't recommend this link, because it's too depressing.) By age 70 it's possible that you've lost 30 percent of your taste buds. My father has lost his taste for chocolate. Nothing tastes right, and being the kind of guy he is, that means there's something wrong with the food.

His doctor told him that you lose I forget how many of your taste buds as you age, but the sweet ones are the last to go. His doctor said it's not the food that's the problem -- it's his ability to taste.

This may be the cruelest cut of all: outliving your taste buds.

When someone you love can't do the things they love, it's hard. You figure they ought to at least enjoy the little treats you cook up for them, or buy them (as is more likely in my case). But nothing tastes quite right. He asks me to buy him pickles, for instance. He's really into pickles (maybe the salt, which he's not supposed to have?). I bought him the kind Mama bought all those years. He told me there is something wrong with those now, and to get another kind. So I did. Those aren't right either.

He's nice about it, just disappointed. And the candy and goodies people bring him pile up until they topple over into the trash can.

I wonder if we can keep our taste buds tasting away by keeping them constantly stimulated? Like those brain exercises to keep you sharp, only these would be eating exercises? I have to have this brownie. My tongue is in training.

The other thing is that is seems that food tastes really unbalanced. He can't taste the pickles, so I get him stronger pickles. Those don't work because one flavor is shouting out and not balanced by the flavors that can't be tasted. Kind of like going to a symphony and only being able to hear the second violins. Just what kind of music are they playing? The main notes aren't sounding (or rather, can't be heard).

I'll keep buying pickles. He lives on hope, and there are still lots of pickle brands left to try.

Big Sexy Hair

This is a rant, not an ad. Here is a link to the product but I don't think I'll get credit because I'm just set up for books and don't know how to make this a book. But since Lori needs some, I thought maybe the rest of you would like to know where to get the Big Sexy stuff.

I cannot operate my hair. I am not gifted in hair, though I am good at growing hair. I hear that my hair grows fast.

I wish I could somehow take advantage of this. Get a job growing hair. Actually, my great aunt had The Longest Hair in the World and was in Ripley's Believe It or Not sideshow during the Depression. This is the inspiration for my novel that does not yet exist.

But that's not the point of this post. I'm going to rant about hair products here.

My "do" is supposed to be sort of fluffy on top. My hairdresser achieves this with a product called "Big Sexy Hair." (I thought Big Hair was out.) Since I cannot operate hair, I bought said Big Sexy Hair for my very own use. Some days my hair looks good. Some days my hair looks like I've had a riding hat on it. Even when I haven't. At no point does it look like Big Sexy Hair. I'm not sure I want it to look like Big Sexy Hair. Isn't that very 1980s?

We have a friend who kept her Big Hair well into the '90s. One day she went to the hairdresser and came back with Small Hair. She looked smashing. We all told her so, hoping she would take the hint. She said, "Nope. My hair is too dinky."

Too dinky. First time I've heard that.

Anyway, back to Big Sexy. It's a good product, but why name it that, put it in a big red can and make the letters large enough to see on a billboard? Silly me. Because sex sells. And most of us want to be Big Sexy.

It's not that I don't want to be Big Sexy. I've already got Big Sexy Butt. Why not have Big Sexy Hair?

Well, because when Lily sees the can on the counter, I have to go into explanations. "Mom, why do you want Big Sexy Hair?"

And I never give the right answer. You see, I'm trying to teach her that in spite of everything she sees on TV, at Wal-Mart and even in church, there are other flattering looks besides Big Sexy Boobs Hanging Out Everywhere. And Butts, Too. Have you seen the magazines for teenagers?

There's a time and place for cleavage. Seventh grade is not one of those times or places. Somehow, that big red can of Big Sexy Hair muddies the water. So I quit using the stupid product and stashed the can in the back of the cabinet.

Then my hairdresser gave me a new "do." And I really can't operate it. I tried all the products that I bought in an attempt to replace Big Sexy. Each one is worse than the last.

So last night I fished out my giant red can of Big Sexy Hair. And today, my hair is behaving in a Medium-ish Sorta Attractive Way. That's as close as I need to get to Big Sexy right now. I'm not sure the whole neighborhood could stand it if I was suddenly transformed into Big Sexy.

I don't think I'll put a brown paper wrapper on the product. If I'm smart, I'll use it for a teachable moment about how sex sells, and what does the way we dress and act say about what we're selling?

I know I'm overthinking about all of this.  Can't help it. I'm a mom.

Are we supposed to look like 12-year-olds, or are they supposed to be adults?

The good news is that this story is getting bad press. A 12-year-old model has been chosen as "the face" of Australia's Gold Coast Fashion event.

Read more here.

The bad news is that the sort of people doing this are the same sort who think all publicity is good publicity. Unfortunately, they are probably right about this, and I hope that is why they chose a 12-year-old, cynical move though that may be.

So, tell me. Am I supposed to look like a 12-year-old, or are 12-year-olds considered adults now?

No matter what they look like, they are not grown up. No matter what they tell you, they are not grown up. No matter what they seem to want or how they are handling it, they are not grown up.

And how will they ever grow up, if they aren't given the time and space?

When to wear white

I give Lily lots of advice. That's my job. I can tell when I'm doing it, too. All I have to do it look at her and watch her eyes glaze over and her posture sag. Yep, I must be giving advice again.

I was at the nursing home yesterday morning and didn't go to church with Paul and Lily, so it wasn't until I emptied the laundry hamper this morning that I saw what she wore: a very summery white skirt and summery turquoise top.

And my first thought was, I'm ashamed to admit: Oh no! She wore THIS after Labor Day?

And my second thought was: Why ever not?

It's not like it's cold. It's just not 100 degrees. And I've given her so many rules, mainly about behavior, which I guess this falls into. With all the weight of a feather.

She can wear white all year long. Let her live her life without that burden. In fact, I've already stretched the white rule. You can wear white after Easter (or on Easter). No need to wait for Memorial Day. Who made up this rule anyway? Let me give her advice about something that matters.

Then, in 15 years, I'm sure she'll be calling me: "Mom! I'm so embarrassed. Why didn't you ever tell me to stop wearing white after Labor Day?"

Mom jeans

What's all this snarkiness I hear about Mom Jeans? I'm taking this personally.

I'm a mom. I wear jeans. The jeans I wear are Mom Jeans. I thought I looked good in them. I thought they were age appropriate. And after all, if I'm a mom, Just Why Shouldn't I Wear Mom Jeans?

And if I'm supposed to wear other kinds of jeans, just why don't they fit? I'm told I should wear boot-cut jeans. Do they expect me to wear boots, too? Things with heels, with jeans? Do you think I was born yesterday?

I have mom feet. Mom feet do not like shoes with heels. The worst thing that pregnancy did to my body was stretch out my feet.

And nobody warned me about this either! I could get into my pre-pregnancy clothes (at least the maternity clothes) for a brief while, but I could never wear my pre-pregnancy shoes again.

So now they're talking bad about my Mom Jeans, they want me to wear boot-cut jeans and some kind of flattering heel, and they expect me to go along with this plan?

I have tried on various non-Mom Jeans in the stores. They are not my friends. If you think my Mom Jeans make my butt look big, you ought to see the alternative!

I'd love to be fashionable and look 26. At one time I was fashionable and 26, and a whole bunch of other numbers. Then something even better happened. Lily.

I'm frankly happy I can zip up my Mom Jeans. I'm really happy in my Dansko clogs. You go wear your non-Mom Jeans and you're crippling healed boots. I'll be jealous that you look so smashing, but I know deep down, and so do you, that those shoes/boots HURT. But one day those chic jeans be out of style, and then you won't be any better off than me in my Mom Jeans.

Fashion don't last. Big butts do.