I'll Never Understand by Rose Madeline Mula

I'll Never Understand

The longer I live, the less I understand. I refuse to think that age has diminished my mental faculties. I prefer to believe that I’m befuddled because so much has changed over the years.

For example, I’ll never fathom why it’s now not only acceptable, but actually fashionable, for bleached blondes to display their dark roots.

And speaking of flaunting formerly hidden things, it’s apparently fine these days for amply-endowed women not to wear bras under tight, abbreviated tank tops. And if they do opt for underwear, they don’t confine their bounty in uncomfortable, strapless instruments of torture. They simply wear conventional bras and don’t give a hoot if their straps are visible.

Remember when decolletage was confined to evening wear? Not any more. Today cleavage is in-your-face all the time. Women of every age and profession (not just the world’s oldest one) unselfconsciously display their bountiful bosoms — on city streets, in offices, in classrooms… Last week, even my middle-aged, plump, local librarian (yes, a librarian!) wore a blouse cut so low it made the wanton wenches on the provocative covers of the romance novels she was cataloging look positively puritanical by comparison.

Since library garb nowadays would make a Hooters waitress blush, it’s not surprising that beachwear has all but disappeared as bikinis become tinier every year. Do miniscule pasties and a string separating your derriere mean you’re not naked?

I suppose I should be grateful that girls aren’t wearing such bikinis to church —although the clingy, buttock-baring shorts that even some overweight women wiggle down the aisles in are almost as bad. Where are Sister Superior and her wardrobe police when you need them? Oh, wait — maybe some of the offenders themselves are nuns. They don’t wear habits any more, so I suppose it’s possible.

At least those short shorts are a bit more modest than the impossibly snug micro-mini skirts that challenge the indecent exposure laws. Not only do they look obscene, they must be downright uncomfortable — especially when their wearers sit down and the skirts ride up even higher. I dined at a local restaurant last week where the two hostesses were apparently competing for the most-revealing-outfit-of-the-year award, wearing what appeared to be eight-inch-wide elastic bands stretched so tightly over their tummies and tushies that every body bump, cavity, and skin pore were defined. As for those tushies, where did they come from so suddenly? Oh, the pain we used to endure to keep them girdled and flat! Now the more jiggly “junk in the trunk” the better.

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I'll Never Understand

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