Eyes Up Here, Buddy

Old Navy, long sleeve, v-neck tee, in black. When I bent over to put on my shoes, the ladies swung in the gravity and the upside down view looked like Christina Aguilera’s right side up.

My first thought should have been, “Hey, I remember that!

But it wasn’t.

It was an automatic apology to someone who might have noticed how pretty spectacular they are for someone my age.


Don’t mention it.

The most beautiful woman I ever knew thought if she wore baggy clothing she would keep men from lusting.

About 10 years ago, I came downstairs in a white top. “Can I wear this to church?”

Mickey looked me up and down, leaped to his feet, and shouted, “YES, YOU CAN!”

“It’s okay for [friend] to think what you just thought?”

“You gotta change.”

He gets to applaud my tight blouse.  The friend has a wife of his own.  He gets to cheer for her tight skirt.

They…we are genetically programmed to respond.  The response is for a reason.  There was no university in the Garden of Eden.  The response doesn’t wait until a man is prepared to provide for a family or a woman has established her career.

Mickey has been having a hard time with his daughters growing up.  Chiefly, in regard to boys and the fact that he knows what boys think about.  What he thought about.

With all due respect, no one gave him any opportunity to ask questions.  No one took responsibility.

In my home, when the time came, I was supposed to ask my mother to explain to me how to use birth control. We had this talk when I was…11.

I’m finished vomiting and if you are still with me, we’ll move on now.

My daughters are growing up in a different world.  The outside world is nastier, but our home offers more truth Mickey’s or mine did. Most of the people around them are being taught to take responsibility for their minds and bodies.  Would I agree that every family is doing it right? Prolly, not.  Would they agree with us? Surely, not.  Thanks be to…


Who made boys and girls.

And brains and bottoms and boobs.


Made the moms and the dads teach them not to be freaked out by a good thing, but that they ALSO have a choice between good, better, and best.

As in: I’d rather have one steak at the steakhouse than 1000 at Golden Corral.

And yes, there will be a lot of metaphors.

So the kids don’t have to think of their parents; you know…

Having a steak dinner.

Baked potato. Loaded.

Dressing. French.

Maybe a sip of Night Train*.

Because that’s how God made it.

He didn’t mean for us to even be at the Golden Corral.

There’s no reason to be ashamed of raising your standards, but you’re not going to hell for noticing the dessert bar.



*catch that link.  It’s to the original song.  The part you’ll recognize doesn’t come until about the :55 mark.










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