Obama tries to grab Census
Last week we wuz up at the Mount Dora Art Festival.
I knowed it wuz gonna be a bad day when I caught Uncle lookin' at cleavage, not crafts.
"Aloysius, it ain't seemly fer ya to stare at that poor ole woman's unfortunate choice of attire."
Wolfish delight spread over his face. "Belle, ya' have to admit, the Baby Boomers is hard to keep down. Doan ya admire that lady fer not givin' in to old age? That ole' gal still has it goin'. She can still shake a leg, I'll bet."
"That ain't a lady, an age speckled ostrich eggs squished into a halter top ain't mah idea of a fashion statement."
"But Belle, looky..."
"Reckon youse doin' enough looky fer the both of us," I snapped.
"I mean, she must be 60 but she ain't give into wearin no gunny sacks an' a bun on her haid. Doan'cha admire that spunky attitude?"
"Aloysius, thar's a reason gunny sacks wuz invented. It ain't charitable to others to wear spandex britches when yore posterior is fannin' the grass."
Uncle rolled his eyes.
"I'm jes' sayin' yore standards shure has dropped, thas' all," I added.
"So's mah pecs," he said.
"Thas' why yore shirts is starched crisp. Public droop should be ticketed-- like littering: Up To $500 For Drooping. $1000 After Dark."
We walked on up the street as Ole Lady Spandex passed goin' down t'other way.
"Besides," I said, " It ain't done her no good. All she got fer her trouble was that grampa in biker shorts wif' a bad comb-over. "
Thar' warn't much good art, a few nice water colors of fish, a lady wif' long grey braids playin' a dulcimer....we walked on in a silent truce.
"Belle, thang is, I seen my Nana's britches hangin' on the line when I was a kid. I reckon I'se not lookin' forward to granny panties."
"Then doan wear them, Aloysius."
He bit back a chuckle. "Ya know what I mean. Every age oughta have some enticement."
"Aloysius, I knowed yore Nana, an she warn't no Whistler's Mama. But seriously, thar' is an age after which..."
But he cut me off, head swivlin' around to follow some lucite spike heels holdin' up a totterin' 70ish woman wif' a Joan Rivers grimace whar' a smile oughta' been, swingin' a sequined cell phone holster.
"Heh," he said, "What'cha bet she ain't wearin' no granny panties."
"Her?" I asked. "Nope. She's into thong diapers by now."
