Feminine Plastique
Clancy and I live in a little basement apartment in a bedroom community just outside of town. The rent is fantastic and our landlords are great. The only problem is that the washer/dryer is located in the basement so whenever it has to be done, they come down.
It also means, as it did this weekend, when I'm revving up to do laundry, the claim can be staked by someone else. In this case it was the Cranstons' youngest daughter, Becki.
Becki is a pleasant enough person, though it's obvious from the get-go that she spends an inordinate amount of time on her appearance. So much so that she has an artificial, plastic-like appearance. She's going into cosmetology at Beck State. A good choice, most likely.
She is also something of a provocative dresser, which is not as unusual in Mormonland as one might think.
Anyhow, her clothes were sitting in the washer when I got up. I checked from driveway and didn't see her car, so I decided to go ahead and push them through so that I could get to our stuff.
Having no sisters of my own and having a wife who is not very much interested in girly attire, I've never handled girly clothes before.
Now, the word "clothing" is derived from the word cloth, but is used more generally to convey anything that we wear in order to conceal and/or to keep warm. Her wardrobe fails at both of these tasks.
There comes a point in the size of underwear that it becomes small enough to become functionally useless. Hers were about half that size. Then there were spaghetti tops and t-shirts that I swear wouldn't have fit me when I was eight. Becki is thin, but not that thin (though, gauging by the couple of bras that I handled, thinner than she might like in some areas). Part of me wonders how she fits into them. Snugly, I'd guess, and snugly by design.
Last night I had a dream. I was at the hospital looking into that room where all the babies are. My little girl was particularly beautiful. So much so that all the nurses kept telling me how beautiful she was - and not just in a polite kind of way.
The joy of my pretty little girl was replaced by sheer horror at the prospect of her teenage years, looking as pretty as Becki, just as fake, and terrifyingly with a similar wardrobe.
It also means, as it did this weekend, when I'm revving up to do laundry, the claim can be staked by someone else. In this case it was the Cranstons' youngest daughter, Becki.
Becki is a pleasant enough person, though it's obvious from the get-go that she spends an inordinate amount of time on her appearance. So much so that she has an artificial, plastic-like appearance. She's going into cosmetology at Beck State. A good choice, most likely.
She is also something of a provocative dresser, which is not as unusual in Mormonland as one might think.
Anyhow, her clothes were sitting in the washer when I got up. I checked from driveway and didn't see her car, so I decided to go ahead and push them through so that I could get to our stuff.
Having no sisters of my own and having a wife who is not very much interested in girly attire, I've never handled girly clothes before.
Now, the word "clothing" is derived from the word cloth, but is used more generally to convey anything that we wear in order to conceal and/or to keep warm. Her wardrobe fails at both of these tasks.
There comes a point in the size of underwear that it becomes small enough to become functionally useless. Hers were about half that size. Then there were spaghetti tops and t-shirts that I swear wouldn't have fit me when I was eight. Becki is thin, but not that thin (though, gauging by the couple of bras that I handled, thinner than she might like in some areas). Part of me wonders how she fits into them. Snugly, I'd guess, and snugly by design.
Last night I had a dream. I was at the hospital looking into that room where all the babies are. My little girl was particularly beautiful. So much so that all the nurses kept telling me how beautiful she was - and not just in a polite kind of way.
The joy of my pretty little girl was replaced by sheer horror at the prospect of her teenage years, looking as pretty as Becki, just as fake, and terrifyingly with a similar wardrobe.
posted by trumwill at 9:34 AM
3 Comments:
Just be a good parent to her, and she'll be fine. Care about her, make sure she understands that beauty is not just about looks but kindness and personality.
Sounds like Becky's been brought up to see other beauty as her ticket to success. That's too bad.
I'm not sure where she picked it up from (Becki's parents are great people), but she actually seems somewhat unique among the Cranston girls. The other three went the more traditional religious route and rushed to marriage and children (seven kids total, I think, mothers' ages ranging from 22-29).
When you took your brief cabin trip I was worried that was related. The odd thing is that I've seen the jealousy and paranoia surrounding two close people propel them to do what they were accused of doing anyway. Of course, they weren't married for over 30 years like you and your wife and it was stupid-bored-overemotionally-charged 20-something stuff. Sounds like quite a dilemma and I wish you the best with that.
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