1199 Desperate Dressing

For at least 30 years, I've been paying attention to how middle-aged women dress. Based on longevity, middle-age starts about age 35, and I'm figuring to stay here until about 70, when I'll be old for oh maybe 20 years, and old-old for another 5. Maybe. It's in my genes, you see. Either way, nobody gets out alive, and because I'm Lutheran, I don't even have to make a stop in Purgatory like Vox Lauri. Jesus offered me a deal I couldn't refuse.

Anyway, I'd been drafting a blog about the effect of the Desperate Housewives TV show on the appearance of mid-life babes. I've never actually watched an entire episode, but I get the drift, and I've noticed the clothing as I've clicked through and on to something, um, more uplifting. I think the show, I say in my draft essay, has really improved the way the ladies look, at least around here (summer vacation community). No more wrinkled shorts, dirty athletic shoes, and t-shirt from a lumber yard in Pennsylvania. Now it is trim cammies over tube tops or colored push up bras over little low slung skirts brushing the knee over the sweetest little sandals you'll ever see at the bottom of shaved legs. Really. I'm not kidding. I was so pleased to see women finally looking feminine again after, what, 25 or 30 years, I didn't even care if it was because of a smarmy, put down of that wonderful profession, housewivery, that created the demand. I'm not sure it is even the clothes, or their new sense that maybe there really is a gardener out there for them.

Then the New York Post came out with a story that really burst my bubble. I won't link to it, so sad, I don't want to be an ambulance chaser. Ladies in NY are apparently still tumbling out of their tight, dirty jeans and showing off their NVL undies. They should stay home and watch more TV. Ruined a perfectly good draft.