Baby, it's Something All Up in Here....

I have debated all morning, in my head, about writing this.

It will offend some people.

But, if we can't speak freely we have lost one of the most important rights on that badly bashed document in Washington DC.

I am here to defend the song Baby It's Cold Outside.

Yes.

I said it.

Yes, it is a song about a guy trying to convince a gal to stay at his place.

I mean, who's to say that the woman isn't there voluntarily?

(for the sake of clarity, the woman's part is in pink and the man's in blue... and just leave that alone, it's too easy.)

I really can't stay (Baby it's cold outside)
I gotta go away (Baby it's cold outside)
This evening has been (Been hoping that you'd dropped in)
So very nice

No mention of being kidnapped and locked in a trunk and driven to an undisclosed location...

She has people who know where she is, and to whom she must answer to....

If she stays her reputation will be ruined....

My mother will start to worry
My father will be pacing the floor
So really I'd better scurry

and later:

My sister will be suspicious
My brother will be there at the door
My maiden aunt's mind is vicious
Well maybe just a cigarette more

Of course, Mom is worried. But Dad is pacing, a sure sign of aggression and her brother is waiting for....her....? Why?

And don't get me started on auntie...

What is she is being controlled, not only by the guy she is seeing but by her entire famly...

And NOW she smokes!!!

Or, maybe they just want her to be safe...

And then he starts up with the booze...

Well maybe just a half a drink more (I'll put some records on while I pour)

Now wait a minute, 'he' doesn't actually offer her a drink in the song. She's the one who brought up a drink....

And let's face it, most of us wouldn't be where we are today without alcohol.

Heck, my husband and I would never have met if it weren't for cheap beer...

Okay, it does take a 'dark' turn here:

Say what's in this drink?

But, he's putting on records...

Remember records?

Who has time to slip in a drug while setting up a turntable?

Next...

I wish I knew how (Your eyes are like starlight now)
To break this spell (I'll take your hat, your hair looks swell) (Why thank you)
I ought to say no, no, no sir
At least I'm gonna say that I tried

'At least I'm gonna say that I tried'???

Trying to justify her actions...she clearly knows what she's doing here. And she hair done before coming over...

And think about the general setting of the song. The poor guy is telling her its COLD outside. He mentions the weather EIGHT times:

(Baby it's cold outside) (Look out the window at that storm)(Never such a blizzard before)   (It's up to your knees out there!)

And he's worried about her safety...

(No cabs to be had out there)

he can't send this drunk chick out to drive her drunken self home in a snow storm....

(If you caught pneumonia and died!)

and he doesn't want her to get sick...

Come on! What sort of girl goes over to a guys house in the middle of a raging snow storm without the hope of staying over....

This poor guy has a gal, of questionable sobriety, stuck in his house in the middle of a blizzard!

And maybe the guy really loves her...

And perhaps, she is just playing with him, is enjoying the attention, and from the very start had planned on staying.

Maybe they are...FLIRTING....

Remember flirting?

Now, before I get accused of defending predators, ignoring injustices and putting women's rights behind by a century, I will admit, I edited the lyrics to support my interpretation of this scenario.

And that's the key.

This is MY interpretation.

Every one is allowed to their opinion.

My daughter, at the age of 13 or 14 commented on this very scenario when I played the James Taylor version in the car one year.

I tried to argue my point with her, but how can a mom tell her teenage daughter that this flirty exchange, to have a guy sweet talk her into staying when clearly people would talk, was her mother's secret dream date...?

I couldn't do it.

She grew up in a different era. And I am so very pleased that she was such a self-aware woman even at that young age.

I want her to live in a world where people treat each other with respect and don't force their beliefs on one another, but instead, have intelligent, thoughful discussions.

But I also want her to grow up in a world without censure.

And to ban a song written SEVENTY FOUR years ago because it doesn't fit into some people's idea of 'appropriate'?

I thought we had already fought that battle with Huck Finn and Catcher in the Rye.

Must we now fight it with a fluffy song written for a movie called Neptune's Daughter starring Esther Williams, Red Skelton, Ricardo Montalban and Xavier Cugat!!

A movie with swimming as a main plot point!

If you actually watch the movie you will see the song sung by Esther and Ricardo in the girl/guy context but later, you will see it in a whole different light when Red sings the female portion and Betty Garrett sings the male.

Could it be, that the song is just poking fun and male female relationships?

So please, enjoy the song if you want. If you don't like it, turn it off or change the station.

But don't be so hateful with your opinion that you forget the fundamentals of free speech.

Because while it might be cold outside, we should never be so cold to one another.

Please enjoy the trailer to Neptune's Daughter.

And come back again when I tackle the scene in the movie where the swimmers are tapping their feet on cross-dressing Red Skelton's junk....

X Has Been Solved

I was going to go all 'Seinfeld' on the letter 'X'.

You know, "what's the deal with 'X'? All the words that sound like they start with 'X' really start with 'E'. And the words that really begin with 'X' sound like they start with 'Z'. What's up with that? Is 'X' the most lazy letter in the alphabet? Or the most mysterious? It's like the World's Most Interesting Man...if Man were a letter..."

But then Kramer burst in and reminded me that I actually do have an 'X' story.

See this?

It's a Marching Band Xylophone.

Aka Bells and for the uber fancy, a glockenspiel.

And I played one.

One time.

In 6^th grade.

Because I was the only kid in the class who could read music, play the piano and was dumb enough to think that a 90 pound girl would have fun carrying a 150 pound all metal instrument back and forth to school on a bus.

That last one may have been the desperate band director's thought.

It certainly didn't have anything to do with wanting to look cute and attract 6^th grade boys.

Thank heaven my parents weren't those 'you signed up for it, you have to finish it' sort of parents.

But they were the 'don't attract cute boys' sort of parents...

GET OUT!!

I think I have figured out their evil plan...

Variscose Verbosity

(The letter 'V' has been giving me fits. I had several posts about my varicose vein treatment, which were posted four years ago when I was new to blogging. I have edited them into one, more cohesive installment. Because honestly, one story about varicose veins is one too many.)

Dedicated to Mrs. Mose, who taught 5^th grade,

loved Lysol and her varicose veins

and felt that I did not use my time wisely.

Four years ago, with a flourish of lasers and lidocaine, I said goodbye to my vascular entity Vein-essa, the ridiculous varicose vein which pulsated into life while I was pregnant with our daughter. I opted to seek treatment at a free-standing vein center, where they also specialize in lasering things people no longer wish to see on their bodies.

I will spare you the boring details of the initial treatment and just leave you with the highlights:

Technician: Do you mind if we leave the door open? We're the only ones here.

Let it be noted that I am in my UNDERPANTS on an exam table.

Doctor: This is going to sting.

(As he proceeds to STAB me multiple times from upper thigh to ankle.)

Here's an interesting fact:

One side of the body feels pain more intensely than the other side.

Oh, wait. I have that wrong.

Actually it is this:

Having someone jab a tiny needle with a syringe full of vein killing solution into a vein above your shin bone hurts like someone jabbing a tiny needle with a syringe full of vein killing solution into a vein above your shin bone.

Just in case you were wondering.

Technician: Wow!

Everyone in room gets quiet. I prop up on my elbows and demand to know what was so WOW! I reassure everyone that I can handle the information.

Technician: Well, as he injected the local anesthetic there, a bunch of it sort of shot out of this hole here...like a fountain!

Internal Conversation with myself: So happy to be of entertainment value.

Me,out loud: Do I get a discount for that?

Technician: Let us know if you taste anything, smell anything or feel anything...unusual.

Internal Conversation and External Conversation, in unison: You really need to tell people that?

Doctor: Wait! She needs her goggles.

Let it be known here – I am the only one wearing goggles. I can only assume they are to protect the other people in the room when the laser shoots up my leg vein and out of my eyes. Sort of like that Nazi Movie Director at the final scene of Raiders of the Lost Ark...right before his face melts off.

What happened next is a blur of lasers, burning smells and several more stabbing injections after which I reminded myself and everyone in the room that I had entered into this VOLUNTARILY.

I left the office in no pain except for the pulling sensation from two rolls of tape attached to my leg where one of my stab wounds continued to bleed. I also sported a brand new pair of awesome support hose, a spare pair tucked into my purse.

I was sentenced to the support hose for four days post laser. Something about keeping the vein compressed and causing me much discomfort. I feel as though this was karmic punishment for some previous crime against humanity. I am telling you right now, you make a terror suspect wear a pair of support hose for four days and that person will talk faster than a presidential candidate can say something stupid. Feed them a bean dinner and they won't last six hours.

You think I exaggerate?

Let me paint you a little picture. Imagine sticking both feet into a rubber tube that will only stretch apart six inches. Now pull this rubber tube up both legs, avoiding the tender taped up area behind your knee. Next fling yourself on your back, both feet in the air, while you frantically try to loosen the tension caused by an excess of fabric wrapped around your calf so tight your baby toe has turned purple.

Curse.

Give one, final mighty tug, thus putting your entire fist through the nylon which attaches the lower half of the tube to the upper half of the tube.

Curse, curse,curse.
You can't change pairs because the back up is in the wash so you soldier on with the now semi-disabled stockings finally ending up with so much extra compression fabric that the waistband sits just under your second rib while the crotch remains firmly hammocked halfway up your thighs.

I spent the next three days wearing two-thirds of a pair of stockings and looking like a circa 1982 'Like a Virgin' Madonna wanna be.

If only I had thought ahead . The YouTube video would have made enough money to pay for my subsequent treatments and psycho-therapy for the video's first hundred viewers.

Disclaimer: Except for the localization, this was totally painless. Unless you count the humiliation of laying around in front of total strangers in your underpants.

Disclaimer #2: The Doctor assured me that Varicose Veins are, in fact, not caused by:

Pregnancy

Being Overweight

Not exercising enough

Exercising too much

Standing for thousands of hours

Wearing high heels

Crossing your legs

Eating too much red meat

Drinking too many rum drinks

or

Going Barefoot

Varicose Veins are just bad genetic luck.

So, Thanks Mom and Dad. 

 

Throwback

When did this:

Thong~a rubber or leather foot covering held in place by a strap between the big and second toes; usually worn casually in warm summer months; likely to cause blisters during the first few wearings.

Become this:

Otter is comfortable with his sexuality. But not his undergarments.

Thong~a fabric undergarment providing minimal coverage, held in place by a strap between the...um, cheeks. Can be worn year long although remains startling to be seen in public.

Thank goodness there have been no reports of blisters.

Continuing with the A to Z challenge. I have nearly made it, people! Only six more letters to go!!