Gandle and his dance!

agnespuffinSeptember 6, 2011

Gandle's post about his tux and the wedding dances got me to thinking. Yes, thinking. And you know what that means.....sometimes it makes me want to complain/gripe/gnash teeth.

Today's gripe would most likely not be understandable for all you youngsters, but I am sure that there are those that will understand exactly what I mean.

Middle age comes...then come the stuff in the mail about AARP, Funeral PrePayPlans, AND Retirement Homes.

Those Retirement Homes.....Tennis courts, Golf swimming pools and DANCES.

To begin with, the men are all tall and well built. Full heads of wavy gray hair. The women, all look to be about 15-20 years younger. Hair, usually pale blonde, sometimes silver gray. Always neatly coiffed. No one has one of those "old lady" perms! None of the ladies have a middle age spread or a pooched out tummy. The hips are still slim and NO ONE, male or female, is overweight.

And the dance floor! Not a single one of those old codgers and their lovely wives need a cane or a walker. Nope.

I want things to look realistic.

I want to see the men with bald heads. Guts sticking out over their pants tops. I want to see those lovely ladies on the tennis courts with their cute little tennis outfits, with varicose veins and swollen ankles. We won't even mention those slim wastes and perky boobs. No one seems to have the bent shoulders and backs either. Must be nice!

And I don't want to be the only one at the bridge table with glasses (BIFOCALS, no less!) Eyesight must improve when you enter a Retirement Home.

Is there a home for us Imperfect Oldsters?

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tibs(5/6 OH)

And they all have perfect memories and wonderful successful children that visit them on a regular basis.

    Bookmark   September 6, 2011 at 10:26PM
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Oh yes, that's why I live in my little shack, wear old rags, if I want to (clean, of course) - I do hang something from my ears and something around my neck because I like to. It draws attention away from my hair-don't

    Bookmark   September 7, 2011 at 1:04AM
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Missy got this in an email from a friend the other day and asked me if she should dump her friend. When I was reading it and trying not to laugh she gave me dirty looks and had to leave the room. I heard her laughing outside the door so knew I was not going to get hurt. She still weighs 115 like she did in high school. Runs rings around me.


I went on a starvation diet the day before,

Knowing that all the extra weight would just melt off in 24 hours,

Leaving me with my sleek, trim, high-school-girl body.

The last forty years of cellulite collection

Would just be gone with a snap of a finger.

I knew if I didn't eat a morsel on Friday,

That I could fit into my senior formal on Saturday.

Trotting up to the attic,

I pulled the gown out of the garment bag,

Carried it lovingly downstairs,

Ran my hand over the fabric,

And hung it on the door.

I had prepared for it like any intelligent woman would.

I stripped naked,

Looked in the mirror,

Sighed, and thought,

"Well, okay,

Maybe if I shift it all to the back ..."

Bodies never have pockets where you need them.

Bravely I took the gown off the hanger,

Unzipped the shimmering dress and stepped gingerly into it.

I struggled, twisted, turned, and pulled

And I got the formal all the way up to my knees ...

Before the zipper gave out.

I was disappointed.

I wanted to wear that dress with those silver sandals again

And dance the night away.


One setback was not going to spoil my mood for this affair.

No way!

Rolling the dress into a ball and tossing it into the corner,

I turned to Plan B:

The black crepe caftan.

I gathered up all the goodies that I had purchased at Saks:

The scented shower gel;

The body building and highlighting shampoo and conditioner;

The split-end killer and shine Enhancer.

Soon my hair would look like that girl's in the Pantene ads.

Then the makeup --

The under eye "ain't no lines here" firming cream,

The all-day face-lifting gravity-fighting moisturizer with wrinkle filler spackle;

The 'all day kiss me till my lips bleed, and see if this gloss will come off' lipstick,

The bronzing face powder for that special glow.

But first,

The roll-on facial hair remover.

I could feel the wrinkles shuddering in fear.


Time to get ready!

I jumped into the steaming shower,

Soaped, lathered, rinsed, shaved, tweezed, buffed,

Scrubbed and scoured my body to a tingling pink.

I plastered my freshly scrubbed face with the

Anti-wrinkle, gravity fighting "your face will look like a baby's posterior" face cream.

I set my hair on hot rollers.

I felt wonderful.

Ready to take on the world.

Or in this instance,

My underwear.

With the towel firmly wrapped around my glistening body,

I grabbed the black lace, tummy-tucking, cellulite-pushing, ham hock-rounding girdle,

And the matching "lifting those bosoms like they're filled with helium" bra.

I greased my body with the scented body lotion and began the plunge.

I pulled, stretched, tugged, folded, tucked, twisted, shimmied,

Hopped, pushed, wiggled, shook, caterpillar crawled and kicked.

Sweat poured off my forehead but I was done.

And it didn't look bad.

So I rested.

A well deserved rest, too.

The girdle was on my body.

Bounce a quarter off my behind?

It was tighter than a trampoline.

Can you say,

"Rubber baby buggy bumper buns?"


So I had to take baby steps,

And walk sideways,

And I couldn't move from my buns to my knees.

But I was firm!

Oh no

I had to go to the bathroom.

And there wasn't a snap crotch.

From now on,

Undies gotta have a snap crotch.

I was ready to rip it open and re-stitch the crotch with Velcro,

But the pain from past experiments was still fresh in my mind.

I quickly sidestepped to the bathroom.

An hour later,

I had answered nature's call and repeated the struggle into the girdle.

I was ready for the bra.

I remembered what the saleslady said to do.

I could see her glossed lips mouthing,

"Do not fasten the bra in the front, and twist it around.

Put the bra on the way it should be worn --

Straps over the shoulders.

Then bend over and gently place both breasts inside the cups."

Easy if you have four hands.

But, with confidence,

I put my arms into the holsters,

Bent over and pulled the bra down ...

But the boobs weren't cooperating.

I'd no sooner tuck one in a cup,

and while placing the other,

the first would slip out.

I needed a strategy.

I bounced up and down a few times,

tried to dribble them in with short bunny hops,

but that didn't work.

So, while bent over,

I began rocking gently back and forth on my heel and toes

and I set 'em to swinging.


on the fourth swing, pause, and lift,

I captured the gliding glands.

Quickly fastening the back of the bra,

I stood up for examination.

Back straight, slightly arched,

I turned and faced the mirror,

turning front, and then sideways.

I smiled,

yes, Houston ,

we have lift up!

My breasts were high, firm and there was cleavage!

I was happy until I tried to look down.

I had a chin rest.

And I couldn't see my feet.

I still had to put on my pantyhose,

and shoes.

Oh ...

why did I buy heels with buckles?

Then I had to pee again.

So I put on my sweats,

fixed myself a drink,

ordered pizza,

and skipped the high school reunion.

If this did not give you a good laugh --

you're too young!"

It is the spirit of the person that makes them beautiful so wear the remembrances of every little thing with pride, all that I have met here are beautiful and i have not met any in person yet.

    Bookmark   September 7, 2011 at 10:32AM
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It could happen!!

Thanks, Don, you made my day.

Reminds me of the time when I was working. Small room, three desks and three women. One of them, had problems that showed. The other two kept their personal problems to themselves.

One day, the subject under discussion, got around to how to put on a bra. Do you fasten it in front and swing it around, or wiggle and stretch and hook it up in back?

The two of us came to the same conclusion. So we did a survey of surrounding offices. Several dozen women. Same results.

One group simply did not have a sense of humor. They all fastened their bras the same way.

There must be a connection.

    Bookmark   September 7, 2011 at 12:28PM
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A real thigh slapper. Steve in Stevens County.

    Bookmark   September 7, 2011 at 2:26PM
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gmatx_gw zone 6

Like to have choked on that swallow of tea!!! Really good one, Don.

agnespuffin, you may be on to something there. Maybe we need to do more research. We could ask that question of women who serve on committees with us. That way, we would know who the ones were that have absolutely no sense of humor - and there is always at least one who makes the committee work a pain.

    Bookmark   September 7, 2011 at 2:39PM
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