I have a whole list of topics to write about, but tonight only one appeals to me: Topless gardening. On a blogging level, that is. On a personal level, I’m completely horrified by the idea. Aren’t weeds itchy enough when you’re fully clothed?
If you have no idea what I’m talking about, head on over and read this article. My favorite part: “Asked why his wife works outside nearly nude, [Robert Pierce] said that’s their way of worshipping.”
I have a whole laundry list of things that are wrong with this (most of them center around respect), and yet I find I can’t coherently focus because I’m stuck on the fact that a 52-year-old woman was gardening in her front yard wearing a thong. FIFTY. TWO. I’m glad she’s comfortable with her body and all, and I’m also perfectly aware that many middle-aged women are ridiculously hot. I’m certainly not suggesting that this would all be okay if she were in her 20s…but somehow, that just makes the story about 10 times more awful.
And why is it I find the idea of pasties and a thong (what she wore last year) even worse than full-on toplessness?
I need to stop thinking about this. It’s starting to creep me out even worse than Resident Evil 4. That’s right, people. I’m more creeped out by fifty-something women in thongs than I am by hordes of the undead trying to kill me. I’m going to spend the rest of the night ignoring what that says about me.