And worse, most of the youngsters, mainly of the female type, seem to have fallen into fishing tackle boxes. Face first. Just how does one eat with a small metal barbell through one's lower lip? I'm surprised the dang thing never gets entangled with the nose ring. But, I'm sure Kimberly-Clark is doing quite well supplying tissues with which to absorb the constant drooling I suspect all the metal causes. And, Johnson and Johnson must be making a fortune bandaging the fresh tattoos.
For every barbell or needle nose there are at least five tattoos. Most of them can't be seen in the check out line, but just go down an aisle or two in the store. For sure you're gonna find some sweat pants person, pants well below the Plumber's line, bending over at the waist, trying to grab the Cheetos on the bottom shelf and in so doing exposing a tattoo on the upper left cheek that says " For a good time call 476-9730" or some such. I remember when these things were written on bathroom walls.
Carolyn's sister and BIL were coming to dinner tonight, and this afternoon I discovered there was no broccoli in the house. We were also missing Sourdough bread. Since lasagna (home-made, no less - I actually had to heat it in the oven after I bought it at Costco) was the entree, I needed to make a rare Saturday run to the grocery store.
Everytime I do that I promise myself, Never Again. I hate shopping on Saturday. Oh yeah, sorry, I've already mentioned that. But this time, I promised myself, was gonna be different. I wasn't going to offer the address of the Salvation Army and Goodwill stores to all the people who had not enough clothes to see them through the entire week, I was going to overlook the mess of humanity. I vowed to try to see this from their point of view.
You see, I am a mere 71 inches tall. In my case, gravity has started to win the height contest. I'm shrinking. But, I'm putting up a pretty good fight in the weight category. Every year I manage to gain another couple of pounds, no matter the cost of groceries, and now weigh a little more than 235 pounds. Even though I dressed in clean, hole free Wranglers and a spiffy Western shirt with all the snaps in place and the long sleeves neatly rolled up, I'm a fatso.
If they have to look at me, I guess I'll just have to look at them. Live and let live.
But, if it ever comes up, I'm votin' to close all the tattoo shops.
I grew up in a Navy town, so there were always a lot of tattoos around. And there were a lot of faded old tattoos on old sailors with sagging skin and curly gray airs poking up through the hula dancer's midsection. The kids are going to learn something in 20 or 30 years.
ReplyDeleteI don't know the appeal of tattoos to young people, never have had. Just the style, I guess. You may remember one post on my blog where I ran into a woman, a life girl scout, who had merit badges tattooed down one arm. I kinda get the sentiment -- like a Marine having the Marine Corps seal tattooed on his arm. Semper Fi. But still...
About skimpy clothing: funny thing is, I live in a beach town and almost never see body parts hanging out like that in the market unless the people have actually just come from the beach. And even then the women mostly throw a a loose beach dress over their swim suits.
You should see the way some of them go to school!!!! It has gotten to be where uniforms for are a good thing - at least they are covered up!!!!
ReplyDeleteBoomer and Pam. It's a far cry from when we were a little younger, isn't it? Remember coats and ties every time you hopped on an airliner?
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