First, I am trying to enlarge the font on this blog. My eyes are having trouble with the tiny font it normally shows, so I am working on making it user friendly.
I fell in love with Got Milk: Margaret and Helen during the election. Helen, and somewhat Margaret too, but more Helen is an outspoken lady who ‘tells it like it is.’ She was asked, by the La Leche league, to do a blog on breast feeding. I’m not sure they have ever read her blog before, because I think they got more than they were bargaining for.
Helen’s main point was: “Breastfeeding is fine by me. But putting it out there for everyone to see is like chewing with your mouth open. It’s just not polite.”
Having spent the day with mother yesterday, got me thinking about all the differences in generations. Mom complains about all the exposed parts of this generation.
She does not like girls midriff’s showing. I guess she objects to belly buttons. But, her biggest complaint is breasts hanging out, and I’m not just talking about Janet Jackson’s either. Cleavage isn’t just cleavage anymore, it’s designing a dress with band aids.
I’m not sure why anyone would really think that I want to see their thong either. I’m not talking about the shoe type here. One girl had her thong so high and her pants so low that she put plumbers everywhere to shame.
Dating myself, but when I went to school we were occasionally forced to kneel on a chair on our way into school to prove that our skirt was long enough. (The way around this was to leave home with your skirt worn normal, kneel on the chair, then go into the bathroom and roll up the waistband. We all had abnormally thick wastes but cute legs showing.) And, just think, we would not have seen Brittany’s “all” if she had to kneel on a chair before she left the house.
Another side of this is that I grew up when you had teachers with chairs in the school entryway, as opposed to metal detectors. But, that is another discussion.
Seeing a bit of a man’s boxer shorts above their pants doesn’t bother me, it’s when he has to walk like he has a load in his pants, in an effort to show off the seat of his boxer’s that it is disgusting. And, don’t get me started on a relative of mine who I had not seen since he was little. He was at one of this summer’s weddings and I took him around to introduce to other relatives. After the third introduction, I quit. It was either that or tell him that he was not black, and we were not in the hood, and none of the relatives wanted to watch him grab his penis, nor shake hands with him after he did.
I know! I know! He grabbed it through his pants. It’s just the idea of the whole thing. There are things fine between lovers and not between aunts and nephews.
I am a baby boomer and I have not heard a term used yet for this generation yet, but my vote goes to the name, generation “overexposed.”