Poosey Digest: Don’t look Ethyl!

The perfect storm is headed our way. Sure, we’ve seen some real crushers this winter and spring – floods, tornados, earthquakes and Mideast uprisings. But the real storm – the mother of all crushers is still headed our direction.

A perfect storm is defined as the coming together of several horror-inducing factors and from what I can see we’re about to be creamed. The elements of the approaching doom should be evident to anyone:

—Our population is aging.

—We’re gaining weight.

—Summer is here.

I made the mistake of visiting a large retail store on Memorial Day thinking that would be the one holiday where most folks would forego shopping and hover around their barbecues. Wrong. The place was packed and it was in those brief 20 minutes that it all struck me – somewhere between Household Goods and Fresh Produce. The perfect storm had arrived.

We’re getting older, our bodies are expanding, and some folks just don’t have the sense to dress decently in public. I sometimes give thanks that pictures can’t be included in this newspaper column because the horrific sights I saw in the one brief excursion made me dread what storm of embarrassment the summer was going to bring.

I am in no way complaining about those of us who are getting older or the many who are growing wider since I happen to fall into both of these expansive categories, but for the love of Pete, let’s have a little modesty with how we dress in public! If it’s really that hot when you go out to buy lettuce then eat canned peas from your cupboard. There have been times when I’ve gone to the grocery mart hungry but lost my appetite before I got to the dairy aisle.

And why these very same people have to bend over right in front of me! Some resembled a tour of the Grand Canyon while others looked like an Alaskan glacier flow.

Nearly every municipality and territory has some sort of statue banning indecent behavior. Surely some of these skimpy outfits would shock even the most liberal of Supreme Court justices. Yes, I’m sure that at one time back in the days of yore and before the nacho chips, that outfit once fit you, but have you looked in a mirror lately, Ethyl?

Used to be this sort of public display of forbidden flesh was merely the pastime of the young and hormone-laden. Now the open showing of things of nightmares seems to be open to everyone with a pair of old shorts and a halter top. No, I don’t advocate swimming in your raincoat, but please have a little pity on the rest of us. After all, when you walk out in to public, you’re… well… out in public. When even the dog blush you know you’ve got too much acreage showing.

If the federal government is so concerned about us that they require seatbelts installed in each automobile, can’t they have an equal concern for our heart by insisting that each auto be provided with an emergency cover-up smock to throw on when we go out in public?

The economy’s still in trouble. How about a tax on the amount of flesh hanging below the bottom seam of your cutoffs? A tariff on the amount of rear acreage showing when you bend over to get the chicken nuggets from the bottom of the deli case? Some state police departments use these little speed readers that rest beside the road and display your car’s mph. How about a camera in the checkout lane that photographs you from the rear and then displays your backside on the credit card machine?

Oh, I can hear the cries of “Freida’s a prude!” “Freedom of expression!” “Get a life and close your eyes!” The truth is, I’ve tried closing my eyes but the retailers frown on shoppers blindly swerving down the aisles trying to feel their way to the cash register.

Robert Burns foretold this perfect storm hundreds of years ago when he said, “O would some power the gift to give us to see ourselves as others see us.” As for me… I’m not looking.

You ever in Poosey, stop by. We may not answer the door but you’ll enjoy the trip.