Possumblog

“Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks!”

I gotta be careful what I wish for! I just now came back from lunch, and was nearly swept up from the sidewalk by southeasterly winds that are just about right up there at hurricane strength!

Or so it seemed.

Anyway, in lieu of the dull boringness of the simple, across-the-street jaunt, I decided to head down a few blocks further and drink in the exciting urban ambiance of the AmSouth-Harbert food court, with all of its ethnic food delights. And, of course, to peoplewatch.

First stop, ethnic food delights, today satisfied by comestibles from a small quaint Mexican place that the locals call “Taco Bell.” Got myself a chicken grilled and stuft into a mush of beans and rice and goo, along with “nachos,” which are small triangular pieces of flavored cardboard which are intended to be taken and dipped into something resembling hot imitation pasteurized process cheese food substitute (yellow). MMMmmmm! I’m FULLLLLLLLLL!

My table beside the escalator atrium gave me a wonderful view of my fellow-diners, and as is my wont, caused me to lapse into my usual Mr. Blackwell mode.

I can’t seem to help it, but it irks me that people make such bad choices in their non-birthday-suit suits. Now, I know I have no business talking about other folks, given my own lack of sartorial competence, but allow me to use an analogy to justify my snark. Back before my Dad went and joined the Navy to fight the Yellow Menace during WWII, he played football at West Jefferson. Now, being that most of the able-bodied men had been drafted or volunteered, the school had to make due with who they could find. Which manifested itself in the hiring of a football coach who was confined to a wheelchair.

Now, you have to remember, this was back before the politically-correct crowd existed, so this guy wasn’t handi-CAPABLE, or differently-abled, or wheel-enhanced--he was crippled, and that was that. HOWever, my father never spoke in anything but the most respectful way about his coach, noting that although his coach couldn’t get down into a stance, or run, or any of the other things football coaches usually do, he DID know how to coach, and to coach well. He might not be able to kick the ball, or throw downfield, but he sure could teach other people how.

SO, when it comes to coaching people on what to wear, I might not be able to do very much with myself, but I promise I can help YOU!

First up--MEN, please don’t wear wigs. If you’re bald, be bald. This is especially true if you look like one of those photos of old 1880s prospectors with a face like a shriveled up potato. Wearing a groovy Bobby Sherman-style wig doesn’t make you look young. Especially if there’s a big gap all around the backside where you can see up your wrinkly nape. If you persist in doing this, I beg you not to come around while I’m eating.

Next, well, sorry, but it’s all advice for women. And trust me, this is difficult, because it’s difficult to look anywhere higher than the floor without it being really REALLY obvious that you’re not just staring off into space, but rather, AT that region you’re not supposed to look at for longer than you can look at the sun. So, the majority of this next stuff is ONCE MORE about shoes.

Saw one tall attractive brunette come walking along and it appeared before she got to me that she was nursing a running injury of some sort, but when she got into shoe-viewing range, I saw that it was nothing more than not being able to walk in the GIGANTIC BLACK PLATFORM OPEN-TOED CLOGS she had on. She looked like she had on Herman Munster shoes. I’m sorry, but this simply is not attractive. And painting your toenails bright red doesn’t help, and that’s saying a LOT, because bright red toenails can cover a multitude of sins. But not Herman Munster shoes.

Second, walking. Another girl came by, and she was in a hurry, but it looked like she was doing the huckabuck as she quick-stomped across the floor because of her inability to walk in high heels. We won’t even go into the fact that they didn’t go with her outfit, but if you don’t know how to walk in high heels, DON’T WEAR HIGH HEELS. They’re bad for your feet, anyway. And they hurt ME if you insist on walking around looking like you’re having a fashion seizure because of them.

Hair. You know, I never really was a fan of the Glenn Close Fatal Attraction mop of ratty blonde curls, but that’s just me. Still, it seems like twenty years on, it would be a good time to go ahead and decide that it would be better not to keep trying to look that way. It never looks good, and looks worse when the blonde color and the curly form are both obviously not the product of nature.

Big girl clothes. Okay, let me say right now, I prefer women with some chunk to them, so this isn’t about having chunk. But there is good chunk, and icky chunk, and wearing clothes that are too tight in the wrong places isn’t good. I realize it probably looked cute on the rack or in the catalog, but if you got your stuff hanging out in a bad way (i.e., you look like the Michelin man), it would be best to cut your losses and not wear that particular outfit anymore.

Now then, I feel better--go out there and win one for the old home team!

Stopped off by Parisian to look at watches for Reba, and I have come to the conclusion that I’m just going to have to take her shopping, because there are simply too many choices. Then I swung by Norton’s Florist on the way out to take advantage of the credit I had due to their delivery mixup on Valentine’s Day, and used it to send some flowers to my Mama. (Don’t worry, I’ll get some for Reba, too, but I’m going to bring them to her instead of having them delivered.) Speaking of fashion, the lady who runs that place is always a joy to look at, as well as to deal with. I have no idea how old she is--at least old enough to where there would be all sorts of gossip where she to take up with a man my age--but she is always nice to see.

So, there you go. And for some reason, I STILL have a bunch of work to do that I don’t want to do.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at May 10, 2006 01:26 PM