2014 - Day 9 - Third USA Trip - A salute to women of America

*Note:  this is in no way a reflection on my friends in America and is not meant to offend in any way, shape or form. Read at your own peril!*


Today is my Mums birthday.  I was in the exact same place as I was on her birthday 2 years ago – Las Vegas.  Happy Birthday Ma!  I do make sure I phone home to wish her that.

Today we went to my favourite haunt here.  No…not a Casino!  Walmart! It’s at this establishment that I bow to those that I hold in such high regard – the American Woman.  It is they who I admire above all people and aspire to be like.  I kid you not. 

Each day when I dress to go to work, or to go to the store, or just simply potter around the house, I dress to cover up.  Not in skirts or dresses which might enable a petite thunder-thigh to be viewed by a poor unsuspecting soul.  Pants…..long pants/trousers/jeans/harem (ok…not harem) pants only dress these legs.  This also doubles as my contribution to saving a dollar on the weekly grocery bill.  Covered legs do not need to be shaved more than twice a year….only being required when visiting the gynaecologist.    This gives me a good 5 year lifespan on the razors I use.   The sleeves of blouses and tops must be at least elbow length. Occasionally I might live dangerously and wear a T-shirt but this will only generally be around the house and not where my tuckshop lady arms can be mistaken for dimpled swamp creatures only to be set on by some brave renegade in our local community.  I will take this opportunity to point out that my armpits do see a razor a little bit more often than my lower limbs as I find body odour more offensive than my own body (and THAT is saying something).

I come to the United States of America, the land of the Star Spangled Banner and African American Presidents and find that this country of great pride and patriotism harbours women who have more courage in their little fingers than I do in my past, present and future life bodies combined.   These women have the confidence and flare to dare step outside their front doors without the obvious hang-ups that hang heavy on my shoulders.   They experience a freedom which I cannot possibly understand and I dream for the day when I might be able to throw caution to the wind and experience it.  Just once.  Just once.

The American clothes sizing system is more generous than Australian.  If you are a size 16….then you are a true size 16 and clothes in every department store will fit you.  In Australia a size 8 in one store might be a size 22 in another.  American clothes are also better made than Australian, so if you are likely to put your arse through a set of britches in Australia, that is unlikely to happen in America.  In America the cost of a pair of trousers might cost you $20 at the most, where as in Australia it requires 2 months pay and a second mortgage on your house. And finally, American clothes are created for the modern woman, irrespective of your size.  So where as in Australia, if you are above an 18 you have to wear stretch nylon dresses with an elasticised neckline, in America you can where pretty much the same style clothes whether you are a size 8 or a size 28.   So, given this one would expect that all American women would be dressed stylishly or in modern clothes.  But….there is two things we have not covered here.  The need to be comfortable and the ability to not give a shit.  This is where I bow to the masters! (or should that be mistresses?)

Take a *cough* lady who is a size 24 for example.  The first rule in this country is that bras are optional.  Hallelujah!  The size 24 woman will understandably use this rule as her first amendment.    Not only are bras optional but so are sleeves……and shaved armpits.  The tops of her arms might be dimpled like feta cheese with her boobs hanging out of the sleeve holes amid the knee length, matted hair….but ain’t nobody gonna tell her to put those puppies back in the kennel!  No way Jose!  

And take a sized 30 *cough* lady whose derrière is wider than the state of California is long.  You just try telling her that she really shouldn’t be wearing those black, see-through, stretch (oh boy are they stretched) bike pants with what appears to be a iridescent green g-string (hang on…no….that’s her partners dental floss) underneath.  The letter “M” is tattooed on each butt cheek.  If you were to ask her what they stood for, she would bend over and tell you to “KISS THIS” and you would realise exactly what they stood for moments before she killed you. (For those that don’t get it….M.O.M.  If you don’t get it now, I don’t know what I can tell you)

And finally, take the *cough* lady who is a size 36, is 123 years old still with the mouth of a sewer who will leave her house in last nights pyjamas mixed with a New Year costume from 1952….well she is my all time favourite.  Anyone that gets to that age deserves a mention in my books.

I bow to all these *cough* ladies of America, for having the confidence to leave their trailer parks….I mean homes…..and be comfortable in what they are wearing.  They do not feel the need to cover up all of there bits and pieces….and more pieces....and so on.  In fact….I might give it a whirl myself tomorrow.  Watch this space!