Dear Hearts & Gentle People

Dear Hearts, I'm certain you may from time to time tire of my constant complaining about various and sundry things but, by golly, I feel an obligation to do what I can to improve the sorry state of affairs we seem to be in in these United States, and my bent toward moaning and groaning may be just what is needed to do that.

Besides, by letting off a little steam, it just makes me feel better.

No, I am not at heart an angry person and I have no personal vendetta against any person(s) of whom I speak. I'm just a down-home rollypolly curmudgeon who'd like to see our society return to some semblence of moral decency and personal accountability. I am, nor have I ever been, a fuddy-duddy. Ask any of my young nieces and nephews and they'll tell you there's very little I won't do in the name of fun, including jumping out of a tree onto a trampoline at age 54. (So what if I broke my foot, I still did it.)

My point as it relates to this week's column is this: There are times when I long to live back in the 50s, when young people adherred to their parents' admonitions like: You're known by the company you keep. Pretty is as pretty does. Don't judge a book by its cover. If you can milk the cow through the fence....well, you get the picture.

As is my custom on school prom night for the past several years I motored out to see a group of gussied-up young couples as they loaded (squeezed rather) themselves inside a huge limo enroute to an evening meal and on to the prom. No complaints here. The couples were attractively and amazingly modestly attired in sparkling gowns and shiny tuxedos....not a bad looking duo in the bunch. And so polite. Very refreshing.

A walk-through at the prom site was also lots of fun. Such creativity was positively energizing. Made me wish for one more shot at being young again, if only to be able to fit into a size 10 dress. Again, lots of fun!

On the other hand, I was caught up short when I noticed several ladies (and I use that term loosely) whom I knew, mothers who were there to witness the grand entrance of their children. I would guess their ages to have been somewhere between 30 and 45 but it was difficult to tell. Difficult, because they were dressed just like their teenagers!

Now, so I don't get myself in some really hot water here, allow me to divert your attention for a moment to a friend's internet blog. For those of you who don't know, a blog (short for weblog) is a personal online journal maintained by an individual and intended for general public consumption. The blog to which I refer is entitled Virtue Alert and it is written by Vicki Courtney of Austin, Texas. She is my hero and she has given me permission to share with you her latest entry entitled "An Open Letter to Hoochie Mamas," with which I totally agree.

I share it now with the hope that you will not only heed its suggestions, you will still consider me your friend after you've read it and will refrain from calling me names, papering my house or worse.

"Yes, you know who you are. You are everywhere. Tell me please- where can I flee from your presence? You are my age (30's-40's +) and you are spending way too much time in the Junior department of your local department store. Give your teenager daughter her clothes back and head to the nearest Talbots. Do not pass "Go." Do not collect $200. Go, go, go. I'll drive you there myself.

Yes, I'm talking to you who boarded my plane last week and garnered a captive audience when you wrestled to get your bag in the overhead bin. Unfortunately, the entertainment you provided was less about stuffing an oversized bag into an undersized bin and more about your ability to stuff your belly and bosoms into a shirt better suited for my 5 lb. Yorkie.

And you forget the cardinal rule about undergarments: Wear them. For that, you get a fashion citation from me and countless other passengers who were forced to attend the sneak preview of A Journey Through My Mid-life Crisis Years. Trust me, the rating was not suitable for the minors on board.

Clearly, I have reached my quota of Hoochie Mama sightings. I am not sure if it was the woman in 14C who caused me to finally crack, or the middle-aged woman in Best Buy strutting through the lap-top section with her teenaged son in tow. Did she miss the memo? No micro-minis after college. It doesn't matter if she is a size 2 or size 22- the answer is

No!

When she dropped her printer cartridge on the ground and spent a good half hour trying to pick it up, I hoped it would serve as a wakeup call that it's time to retire the skirt. Her poor son seemed mortified when she finally screamed at him to pick it up for her. Teenage boys are supposed to fetch groceries from the mini-van and bring them inside, not rescue their mothers from the perils of poor fashion choices.

So, why the rant, you ask? I am tired of being subjected to too much, um, how can I word this gently...too much YOU. And I have a hunch I speak on behalf of many others who have felt helpless and without a vote in this matter. Ah, but you say this is a free country and you are simply exercising your rights to wear whatever you want. Well, the rest of us have rights too, you know.

Just as we do not wish to hear a co-worker's Monday morning recap of his/her sexual escapades over the weekend in the name of TMI (too much information), we do not wish to witness your public displays of TMY (too much you.) Your epidermis is showing and it's time to cover it up. There, I said it. Whew, I feel so much better.

I am certainly not saying that those of us in our 30's and 40's should be sentenced to a closet full of holidaythemed sweaters and Naturalizer footwear. I myself am not a Talbotskind of-gal. I recently purchased a pair of jeans from Banana Republic and the first time I wore them, at least ten friends asked me if I had lost weight.

Apparently the low-rise style is more flattering to my shape, which of course, makes Banana Republic my new favorite store. But I am not naive enough to couple the jeans with a cute midriff-baring tee. I do my once-a-month crunches just like the rest of my 40 year old soccer-mom friends. They are usually brought on suddenly while watching an episode of Extreme Makeover and abandoned just as suddenly when the Cool Ranch Doritos ad runs midway through the show.

And for the record, it's not an issue of being ashamed of my body. I happen to have six-pack abs, but mine are covered with an insulating layer of fat and can be a bit hard to detect at times.The bottom line is that no one wants to see my midriff except my sweet hubby- in the privacy of our own bedroom where bare midriffs belong.

There is nothing wrong with donning the latest fashions, but do so in good taste. There is a balance between looking stylish and looking ridiculous. And if you have a daughter, remember a parent leads by example. It's disturbing enough that you wear hoochie clothes, but even more so, that you allow your daughter to leave the house dressed like a stripper-intraining.

Now, be a good girl and go clean out your closets. And do us a big favor and resist the urge to consign or give those hoochie clothes away. Deposit them in the nearest dumpster. It's time to bury this trend- in the nearest landfill."

Amen, sister.