Do you ever find yourself amused (and amazed) by peoples' white trash antics?
Sure you do.
Southern Fried White Trash takes a humorous look at the unbelievable mindset of the national subculture (and Southern specialty) we affectionately refer to as "white trash."

Monday, March 21, 2011

Lord help us; the shorts are blooming.

My goodness. Every year I forget, and every year I am reminded all over again. Women over a certain age and a certain weight should not wear certain things. Neither should men, but I think the women bother me more. Maybe because I can relate to the women, I don't know, but the men I just find amusing. Boys and their toys, I guess. But now seriously folks, hear me out and tell me, am I wrong? Just plain mean? Too critical? I don't think so.

I was driving home from my walk this morning, and I stopped at a local convenience/pharmacy store to pick up a few things we need around the house. I always look awful when I work out. I just don't see the point in putting on makeup and fixing my hair just so I can sweat, huff and puff. So I'm being perfectly honest here, and not just about the other woman in the store with me.

I picked up my items - toothpaste, floss and a loaf of bread, and hauled them up to the front of the store. I got in line behind a woman who, so help me, was still under the impression she's 15 and thin. In truth, she looked to be about 45 and, um, not thin. Again, I'm right there with her, so not pointing fingers and laughing. Just observing.

She was wearing short shorts, the ones I describe to my girls as being cheek floss. Her legs were pasty white and dimpled, highlighted by varicose veins here and there. The top she wore was very tight and secured only with spaghetti straps.  Oh my goodness. I took a step back.

Now as I said earlier in this post, I do not get all dolled up to work out. What I do without fail, to the best of my ability, however, is dress appropriately. I do not wear short shorts, I do not wear skin-tight anything, and I do not ever, in any circumstance, go braless. If there's not a city ordinance on the books about that, there should be.

This woman stood there in front of me, popping her gum and tapping her unnaturally long fingernail on the plastic display case of Snickers Bars on the counter. Apparently she had someplace else extremely important to get to, seeing as how she was all dressed up. I just shook my head, inside my head, of course, not outwardly. I have learned a bit of temperance over the years.

When I see a woman that age, that size, dressed as she was, I cringe. It tells me that she is either a) blind or b) oblivious. There is such a thing as aging gracefully and beautifully. It does not involve denying the fact that you're getting older. Not at all.

Now men who dress inappropriately for their age? Oh yes, I just find humor in that. I probably wouldn't if the man in question were my husband, though. I am reminded of a time many Spring breaks ago, when we took all the kids to the beach. I happened to glance up from the book I was reading just in time to see a man of, oh, about 60 or 65 years old walking the beach. He was nearly perfectly round, had a slick bald head, and he was wearing a man's thong bikini with the image of the English flag on it. He was turning heads, that's for sure. He, too, was completely oblivious to the fact that he did not look like Michael Phelps in that get-up. I just had to chuckle.

Of course with men we're more likely to say, "well good for him." With women we typically say, "Tsk tsk. She should know better."

Anyway, like fat chirping robins, blooming dogwoods and pollen, I witnessed yet another harbinger of Spring this morning in line at the neighborhood Walgreen's. My, my.

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