I Think It's Pretty

I get so confused--are we "fer" it or "agin" it?  I guess it is situational, like ethics (link).  

Melania Trump makes the most sense to me on the topic.  What?!?!?  Hell yea.  She has a new book.  

CNN —

Former first lady Melania Trump posted a new video on social media Wednesday defending her previous nude modeling work as she promoted her new book.

“Why do I stand proudly behind my nude modeling work? The more pressing question is: Why has the media chosen to scrutinize my celebration of the human form in a fashion photo shoot?” she said in the video posted on X.

The former first lady added: “Are we no longer able to appreciate the beauty of the human body? Throughout history, master artists have revered the human shape, evoking profound emotions and admiration.”

 I'm guessing that the left will have a strong rebuke of this opinion, male gaze and all.  They will have to agree with their brothers and sisters in the Taliban on this one.  This shit gets weird and twisted.  As I've heard. . . free the nipple. . . just don't look.  

"What are you looking at?!?"

I am probably not the person to opine on this, however.  I look like a sack of potatoes now.  Who wants to see that?  

Get your pictures while you are young, I say.  Or at least in middle age.  After that, we are just something out of a medical journal.  Though I must say, people are aging WAY better than they used to.  Look at your grandparents at your age.  Yup.  That's right.  

So I took my mother and her 90 year old neighbor out for happy hour yesterday.  You wouldn't want to see them naked, probably.  But they were a bucket of fun.  The couple from across the street went, too.  They got there before we did and, in typical fashion, took a booth in the absolute worst part of the restaurant.  In all respects, I'd lost control of the enterprise.  What I envisioned as a funky time at the bar turned into a trip to Denny's.  

Selavy.  

The menu at a Chili's is designed to confuse the aged.  There was no way in hell those two old gals were going to make heads or tails of it.  And. . . well. . . my mother's neighbor is legally blind, so she had no idea what to get.  

"Can I bring you all drinks while you look at the menu?"

"I'd like a zinfandel," said my mother's neighbor.  

"Oh. . . I'm sorry. . . we don't have a zinfandel."

Now we were in trouble, so I said, "Bring two glasses of Chardonnay," because, you know. . . if you are going to get a cheap wine, Chardonnays are always the best bet.

"And I'll have the skinny margarita."

The other couple had margs as well, the house standard.  Now we were partying.  

Chips and salsa and a white cheese dip.  Finger foods.  The gals were getting full.  

It was really and truly awful food.  The margs were, too.  I should have gone with my first instinct and gotten the tiny, ice cold beers.  But I'd had a busy day and was kinda sorta out of it.  I had forgotten to eat all the live long day.  

I started the day with a long walk, then, being a bit jammed up on time, hurried across town to my beautician's place.  Now that she's had a pretty little baby girl, she is working from home.  And, I take it, she needs to talk.  She has a lot to tell, and it isn't like the things she used to tell.  Oh. . . domestic bliss.  

Ha!

Having a baby late in your reproductive life, I guess, can bring unexpected surprises.  Her life, as she once knew it, is gone. 

For good or ill. 

I didn't let her cut my hair, but it still took hours.  

"Your hair has gotten dull.  I'm going to do something different to it."

That sent a chill up my crooked spine.  

"Oh. . . that means you've run out of product and are looking around the kitchen to see what you can cook up!"

When I left, though, I was pretty as a picture.  She loves me.  She makes me look good. . . as good as possible.  

I went straight to the gym.  Then home to quickly shower.   And then, it was off to my mother's.  And so, without thinking about it, I hadn't eaten and was beginning to fade.  

Two hours of bad food and bad margaritas later, I was home.  

I poured a whiskey and lit a cheroot.  Maybe not the best thing, but I was finally able to chill.  I was done for the week as far as I knew.  I had nobody tugging at my coattail.  I could go back to relaxing and thinking.  

Maybe that isn't the best thing, either.  

Whatever side there is, someone is on the other.  It's probably going to be me.  It is a contentious world, but for the next few days, I'll not have to engage in any particularly meaningful way.  More Proust, more camera porn.  And the weather has improved here a bit.  Maybe I'll go roaming to see what I can see among people with no real connection to me.  

Selah. 

Give it a minute.  It might grow on you.