Rants

I looked up from the table I’d been wiping to see that four male coworkers, and the male half of the one remaining couple left in the dining room, were staring at the tv screen. When I glanced towards the screen, what I saw had me race-walking to a remote to turn off the tvs.

I don’t know what makes tv producers think they can show naked women on television at 7:30 in the evening (or at any time for that matter), but whatever it is, they’re just plain wrong. I don’t care if they’re making a “mock-u-mentary” on Playboy bunnies–showing naked women is still not appropriate. I object on so many different levels. 1) Nudity (especially of the type I saw) should be classified as obscenity. It is inappropriate and vulgar. 2) The type of nudity that I saw (and that my male coworkers were glued to) objectifies females, reducing them to sex objects. This objectification is bad for both men and women–who find it increasingly difficult to have healthy views of their and others’ bodies, healthy attitudes towards sex, and healthy sexual relationships, partly due to this objectification. 3)
I saw this nudity on tv during “prime time”. Sure it may be cable, but don’t be so naive as to think that children don’t have access to cable tv at 7:30 in the evening.

No one–not adults, not children, not males, not females–should ever have to see such a thing on television.

I was still steaming about the nude playmate I’d just seen when a coworker asked me “How old are you, Rebekah?” Now realize, I’m not a very secretive person. My life is pretty much an open book. But today, and with this guy, I just really didn’t want to say. So I answered with an elusive “I’m in my mid-twenties.” “That’s about what I would have guessed,” he returned. “I’m not exactly a spring chicken myself.”

Yep, I’m sure you’re not. Nice try buddy, but that’s a strike out. I prefer mature men–and those who look away rather than look twice when a naked woman appears on a tv screen.

I love my body–I’m probably the most body-confident person I know. I think I’m beautiful. I think my body is shapely. I look like I belong in a painting (of some goddess or other.) I really, really like my body. My body image is SUPER high. But that doesn’t stop me from envying smaller women.

When I do shop for clothing, I generally shop used stores. They’re economically sensible, environmentally sound, and you don’t have to end up dressed like everybody else. But invariably, I’ll find some gorgeous skirt or dress, and pull it out to discover that it’s a size 4. Most of the cute clothes at the used stores I frequent are in smaller sizes. My size clothes tend to have elastic segments on their waistbands and silly furbelows here and there.

Even if I weren’t shopping used stores, I’d still find shopping difficult. You see, my beautiful bod is somewhere between a size eight and a size fourteen. I can wear size 8 bottoms–as long as the designer was so good as to put a long enough zipper in it that the waist will fit over my hips and as long as the crotch is long enough that I can actually get the waist up to my natural waist and as long as the bottoms are long enough to fit my really long legs. Otherwise, I might wear up to a size fourteen–which will be held up by my hips, while the overlarge crotch bags between my legs and the enormous hip space sags on either side. Even a size fourteen may not be long enough–they’re generally longer because they sit lower on my waist, but even then I can’t wear heels with them. Because despite what magazine advertisements might lead you to believe, clothing is not made for tall, shapely women.

Shirts are even more difficult, because my bust is large while my waist is small–and because I’m tall. That means that if I buy a shirt that fits my bust, it makes me look like a frump because it’s made for a woman with belly fat (which I don’t have). If I buy a shirt that fits my waist, I look like a tart–because it’s not made for a person with a large bosom. Which brings up another issue. If I wear a high neckline, it’s like putting on a sign–“Look at my big breasts.” If I wear a lower neckline (scooped, vee, square, etc.), it’s like “Whoops, there’s cleavage.” The large bust and my tall frame also means that most shirts are WAY too short–showing off my belly button and that little waist. I solve both problems by wearing wife beaters under my clothes–they cover at the top and extend down past the bottom. But wife beaters aren’t exactly professional dress, if you know what I mean. Which leaves me in a bit of a predicament.

So, while I love my body, I often look enviously at the petite little things with only the slightest curves. I see them clicking down the street in a fitted pantsuit and heels and think “Wouldn’t I love to be you.” Imagine wearing a suit that fit my bust, my waist, and my hips simultaneously. Imagine wearing slacks that were long enough that I could wear heels with them without looking silly. Imagine having extra fabric to take in instead of having to leave behind the jacket because the arms were too short–and there wasn’t any extra fabric to lengthen them with.

I almost have the body of a model–tall, thin, large breasts. I say almost because my breasts are natural and my BMI is actually healthy (as opposed to the “standard” model’s 17 or so–which is underweight and associated with increased morbidity and mortality). But the world that sets up an unrealistic standard for most girls to aim for fails to accommodate for the standard. Where are the clothes for tall, thin, busty women? They don’t exist.

My body’s beautiful, but it just doesn’t fit into any of the preconceived notions of sizes. And sometimes, just sometimes, I wish it did. Imagine going into a store and buying something without trying it on. Imagine only trying on five items before finding one that fit.

I purchased eight articles of clothing at the used store today. I tried on over a hundred. I tried on twenty suit jackets and didn’t find one that had arms long enough for me. Almost 50 skirts and only four made the cut. I’m pleased with my purchases–four skirts, 3 dresses, and a suit set. I’m happy with the two belts, the purse, and the pair of shoes (wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles) that I bought to accompany them. I only paid $27 for the twelve items. But I spent almost three hours feverishly trying on clothing–completely breaking the rules by taking in 30 or 40 items each time I went into the dressing room. I dressed in seconds–and generally could spot the error within seconds as well. Bosom too tight. Skirt slips over hips. Skirt won’t slip over hips to get it on. Arms not long enough. Designed for a big bellied woman. I’ve developed the skill of maniac dressing–I can try on an item and determine that it won’t do within 30 seconds. But 3 hours of 30 second try-ons is a lot of time for eight items. Perhaps you see my predicament.

I’m cheating on my time-stamp and marking when I began rather than when I ended this post. It’s really Wednesday’s post, which I thought about throughout Wednesday afternoon and evening and began in the evening–even though it is currently 12:30 on Thursday morning.

I tend to have rather strong opinions about things–and patriotic music just happens to be something about which I have a very strong opinion. Patriotic music moves me to tears–and makes me seethe. I love most of it–and hate some of it.

My peeves about patriotic music? First, the tendency of people to classify certain songs that are not patriotic music as patriotic music. Julia Ward Howe’s Battle Hymn of the Republic is a prime example. It’s not patriotic, guys. It doesn’t mention America anywhere in it–it doesn’t have anything to do with a specific nation. It has to do with God’s righteousness and wrath. It’s about God accomplishing His purposes–and about men being obedient to the calling. Yes, it was a battle hymn of the civil war–but it isn’t a patriotic song.

Second, it annoys me that the patriotic songs most often heard are sappy and sentimental and NEW. It’s not that I’m against new songs in general–it’s just that so few of our contemporary songs actually have meaning. They’re so simplistic, so blah. They are meant to inspire tears but not to inspire thought.

Third, some patriotic songs annoy me by adding certain phrases in that just don’t fit. Take America, the Beautiful. It’s a gorgeous song, but what are you talking about “Thine alabaster cities gleam/undimmed by human tears”? I know, Katherine Lee Bates was referring to the White City of the Columbian Exposition World’s Fair in Chicago in 1892–but the “undimmed by human tears”? That’s Biblical imagery–and it refers to the New Jerusalem. America’s great and all, but it’s not heaven on earth. I’m still waiting for that new heaven and new earth–that and only that will be a city “undimmed by human tears”.

But don’t get me wrong–I love patriotic songs. Certain parts of the classic songs perfectly express my heart and my prayers.

Today, I think of our nation. I remember the revolutionary idea that sparked the American Revolution–and that still sparks revolutions around the world. The idea that men can be free. Liberty. It’s quite a heady idea. I think of it and I pray:

Our fathers’ God, to Thee,
Author of Liberty,
To Thee we sing:
Long may our land be bright
With freedom’s holy light;
Protect us by Thy might
Great God, our King

Today, I think of the many men (and women) who have given their lives, their blood, their anguish, years of their lives to make our nation what it is. I think of the wives and children at home–giving up husbands and fathers. I think of the thousands of heroes who have served throughout the years and continue to serve now in our military. I think of them and I pray:

O beautiful for heroes proved
In liberating strife
Who more than self
Their country loved
And mercy more than life
America, America
May God thy gold refine
Til all success be nobleness
And every gain divine

Finally, I think now of a nation at war–of our men and women currently fighting on the front lines. They fight for freedom, for liberty, that same thing I celebrate today. I think of the many of us enjoying our picnics and barbecues today, enjoying victory and peace. I think of how quickly we have forgotten who makes this nation great–how quickly we have turned to rely upon ourselves. And I pray for my countrymen and women, both those here and those abroad:

O thus be it ever
When free men shall stand
Between their loved homes
And the war’s desolation
Bless’d with vict’ry and peace
May the heav’n rescued land
Praise the Pow’r that hath made
And preserved us a nation
Then conquer we must
When our cause it is just
And this be our motto:
“In God is our Trust”
And the Star Spangled Banner
In triumph shall wave
O’er the land of the free
And the home of the brave

Someone once said that you can determine a person’s priorities by looking at their checkbook register. If you looked at mine (and if I were a little better a keeping my checkbook register up to date), you would discover that “managing allergies” is definitely on my priority list. I spend at least $75 a month on medications used to control allergies.

But the cost of allergies is really much greater than a simple glance at my checkbook might reveal. That sort of calculation doesn’t take into account the cost of air conditioning my home and car (even when the outside temperature may be comfortable). It doesn’t take into account the cost of washing my sheets in hot water (as opposed to cold water). It doesn’t take into account the extra loads of laundry required by more frequent washing of drapes and throws and pillows. It doesn’t take into account the cost of using a dryer for all my laundry (instead of hanging it on a line.) It doesn’t take into account the extra cost of purchasing more effective furnace filters–and purchasing them more often. It doesn’t take into account the extra cost of bleach and of vacuum cleaner bags for less allergenic cleaning.

And those are only the financial costs of allergies. Once you start thinking about quality of life, the equation builds. Allergies mean that I have to take medication three times a day–and at just the right times in order to avoid the worst symptoms. Allergies mean that I have to shower and wash my hair before bed every night so that I don’t “track allergens” into my bed and sleep with them all night. Allergies mean that I need to be hyper-vigilant about cleaning my house (When was the last time you dusted your mini-blinds?). Allergies mean I have to consider what sort of exposure I’ll have before venturing outside for a walk, a game, a dip in the pool.

Then there are the miscellaneous, little things that start to add up after a while. The allergic blepharitis that keeps me from wearing eye makeup. The bronchospasm that often limits me to walking for aerobic exercise (and rules out “spur of the moment” exercising). The crinkle of the allergen-proof mattress and pillow covers.

I know that there are plenty of diseases out there that cause lots of problems. Allergies are certainly one of the least–especially my type of allergies, which are by no means life-threatening. But even so, considering the cost of allergies (even just “environmental” allergies like my own), don’t you think it might be worthwhile to invest something into searching out a way to prevent or cure allergies?

This post was thought up and written on June 25–that’s why I dated it as June 25. However, I got sidetracked and didn’t actually “post” it to the internet until early on June 26. Sorry!