Y’all, I am in a foul, foul mood. I’m tired, I’m hungry and I’ve got pesto breath from breakfast (perhaps in retrospect a bad idea) that is showing no signs of surrendering to my minty ministrations.
I thought I’d cheer myself up by seeing a noonday concert and flirting with the pianist, who is a dear friend and the only heterosexual male to have ever had the honor of touching my hot pink Diors.
The concert was lovely and I’s started hating the world and all its inhabitants (uh, except you all! I love you! buy stuff!) slightly less than I had an hour earlier. Waiting for the pedestrians to cross, I see a totally normal looking pregnant woman walk by and this bit of evilness popped out of my brain.
“She’ll probably be a horrible mother; I mean, she wears khaki capris.”
Even for me that was harsh. Where did that even COME from? I truly have no idea.
Granted, I don’t generally approve of cropped pants because I don’t think people approach them with the appropriate fear and trembling (not to mention the right statement shoe) but really? A bad mother?
But we make those snap judgments on appearances every day, and I’d wager we don’t know where many of them come from. I’m shallow because my shoes are expensive , he’s gay because he’s well-groomed. Is it that far a jump from that to “she’s lazy because she’s fat”?
Today Miss Plumcake wants to know:
We’re all guilty, but what snap judgments based on appearances do you make, and whaddya gonna do about it?
(Joan Crawford, sans capris, and her family. I feel Miss Joan was a very misunderstood woman.)