THE LONG, LONG, LONG, LONG FLIGHT

Just one week to the day after my 65^th birthday I was sitting at the airport in Dubai waiting to board a plane to Bangkok. This would have seemed incredible to me 10 years earlier.

Copies of all my info were left with friends in the event of an emergency. But I made clear that I didn’t consider anything less than a Zombie Apocalypse to be an emergency. Also I left contact numbers for my brother & cousin in the event I got blown-up, set on fire, or my head was displayed on a skewer.

I hadn’t fully unpacked from Ecuador only 5 months before, because I knew this trip would soon be coming up. On this flight, only ONE carry-on bag was allowed and a purse counted as a carry-on. First and Business Class are allowed 3 bags. A 17 inch seat awaited me for the entire 16 hours to Dubai. Economy Class is the 21^st Century version of traveling steerage. I don’t understand why in this day and age, the comfort of ALL passengers isn’t important and only the ones with money are deemed worthy. Sadly the world is moving more in this direction.

At the airport everything was in military time. For crap sake! I’m a civilian and so is my watch and alarm clock! The first time I encountered this was at the airport in London back in the 70’s. I looked up and saw 13:00 O’clock. I swear I thought I’d stepped into the Twilight Zone!

Issues had come up that I was not made aware when I booked months before. The first thing I told the travel agent was that I needed the shuttle to pick me up at my house in Vero Beach for the long drive to Orlando, otherwise I could not go. I have no relatives in Florida and my friends all have busy lives, I didn’t want to inconvenience them.

I was assured this would be no problem. – WELL IT WAS A BIG HONKING PROBLEM!!! Almost a month before my flight, (after my trip was paid in full) I was informed the shuttle does NOT have door-to-door service. So now I found myself shelling out for a limousine each way. It will probably the first and last time I’ll ever ride in one.

I departed Orlando for Dubai on an Arab Emirates Boeing 77-200LR. The stewardesses on this flight were all young beauties and they wore the most glamorous uniforms I’ve ever seen! A veil was pinned to one side of their caps that swept under their chins. It was quite an exotic and sophisticated look.

This flight was surprisingly pleasant! Only one seat was beside me and it was empty. I could put my feet in it and relax; no one was in my space annoying me. Plus there was a big innovation that didn’t exist back in the 1970’s, a private screen with a vast movie library for me to enjoy!  I fell asleep during the last movie and had to wait until my next Emirates flight to see how it ended. And because I ordered a special meal I was served before anyone else in Economy Class throughout my entire journey.  

As we neared Dubai and the plane began its decent, I could see the tops of those futuristic skyscrapers piercing the clouds and then lots of sand. Around the airport the buildings were rather ordinary looking. It was around 12 noon Dubai time.

I felt totally lost and confused at the Dubai Airport! The crowd from my plane quickly dispersed and I kept finding myself at dead ends searching for my gate. Fortunately, my baggage had been checked thru to Bangkok. Finally, a young employee led me to a tram. I boarded, and then it was another long frustrating search before I found my gate.

As I waited to board my next plane, it was fun to people watch.  All cultures paraded before me. I saw not only women with hijabs, but those covered in black burkas with only their eyes visible. I saw Hindus in their saris, Buddhist Monks, and even several people in African garb. Clearly, I wasn’t at Orlando International anymore!

I went in search of a bathroom and nearly got lost again! When I returned, my gate was emptying. I thought we were boarding. Instead, we rode an escalator down to another waiting area for an hour. This one was isolated.

It seemed to be taking forever, I was tired. I had been booked for window seats throughout. At long last, by section we boarded.

OMG!!! Nooooo!!! A couple sat beside me hemming me in. And the woman next to me carried a year old infant!!!  That kid screamed and shrieked in my ear for the entire 6 hours to Bangkok!!!  It was a miserable flight!!!  I wanted to holler, “Hey stewardess, either strangle this child or drown it in the toilet!!!”

Many would argue that the child was too young to know better. – That is EXACTLY THE REASON small children should NOT be allowed in public!!! And people dim and clueless enough to bring them on airplanes should be forcibly sterilized!!!

After enduring 6 long hellish hours of an overwhelming urge to commit infanticide, we landed in Bangkok, FINALLY!

BORN IN 1951

A stand-up comedian claimed he could always spot an old woman trying to pass herself off as younger. The vaccine scar on her arm was a dead giveaway, he declared.  Apparently women born post 1960 do not have this. And neither do I, despite being born during the Harry S. Truman administration. My scar is on my right hip. It’s about the size of a dime and fades nicely into my skin.

My mother’s was quarter-sized and appeared branded into her flesh. You couldn’t miss it!  

I was too young to remember moving to Florida with my family in 1952. They were Detroit people. This was decades before it became Murder Capitol of the Country. We moved to the small coastal town of Stuart, known as the Sailfish Capitol of the World. A beach day was like going to the park around the block. Our Northern kin enjoyed the warm winters while visiting. 

During the 1950’s my childhood was wonderful. It felt like Christmas every day! But in 1960 it all transfigured into something dark, ugly, and suffocating. This happened right after we moved to the place on the river, the house that never felt like home. Nothing ever seemed to go right after that.

However, my early childhood was glorious and I will always remember it with fondness. Back then, there were lots of wide open green spaces filled with mystery and magic to explore. Corny things like weenie roasts and school plays were anticipated fun events! Not to mention, Captain Kangaroo, Farmer Greenjeans, Howdy Doody all played a significant part, too. Looming high above them was Walt Disney. He seemed a distant uncle, but at the same time more iconic than the President. His creations permeated nearly every area of my life!

TV sets were small and had antennas. The picture was in black & white and of the few channels received, half were snowy. On Saturday mornings I’d wake up before the rest of the family and race to get an early start on my cartoon shows. Often, I’d find a test pattern awaiting me. Westerns were more popular than ever! The nightly Huntley Brinkley Report which featured world news was only 15 minutes long! In the early 1960’s it was lengthened to a half hour.

Of course the cold war with the Soviet Union was ever present. The paranoid built fallout shelters. As a small child, there always existed a fear in the back of my mind that someday we would go to war with them and many of us would die. Had you told me then that at the age of 28 I would be visiting this horrible communist place and enjoying a fabulous time, I wouldn’t have been able to fathom such a thing!

The 1950’s were far from perfect, but it was still a great decade in my opinion. It was America’s Golden Era! Sure, it wasn’t wonderful for everyone. Even the Golden Age of Rome had slavery, among other terrible things. But it was better than anything that had come before.

Courtesies and conveniences once common are now antiquated.

Back then, no one pumped their own gas. Plus the attendant checked your oil & tires and even cleaned your windshield, too. Gasoline was cheap and so was food. A milkman delivered all your dairy needs right to your door. A refrigerator was still referred to as an ice box. Treatment by a doctor or dentist didn’t require a bank loan. Often a hospital stay could be paid straight from your wallet! A human being answered the phone every time you placed a call.

But telephone lines were shared with strangers. These were called party lines although there was nothing jolly about them. Others could listen in on your calls or slam the receiver down in the midst of your conversation. Sometimes they’d interrupt to inform you they needed to make a more important call. But there were NO TELEMARKETERS!

Drug stores all had lunch counters and ice cream sodas for 25 cents. Enjoying a $10 dinner in a restaurant was considered living high-on-the hog and only reserved for special occasions. Movies (both matinees & evening shows) were only a quarter to all of us under 12 years of age. Also there were the Drive-In movies, I went to only one. This is Florida and we preferred air conditioning because we didn’t have it at home back then.

Clean fun was not an oxymoron.  Humor had wit, not dirt!  Standards were high! People dressed nicer and looked better assembled in public. An average model was a size 10, the average woman a size 8. Clothes in the Junior section were cute and roomy instead of tight and revealing.  Divorce was uncommon. 

Mostly, wives were homemakers. If one worked outside the home, she was an object of pity; it meant she had married badly. -- Homemakers worked just as hard as career women, except that homemakers had far more freedom and control over their time than most career women do today. I don’t believe a homemaker holds any less prestige than a doctor or lawyer. In monetary terms, if one was paid for everything she did, her wages would be higher. I never knew a quiet and obedient stay-at-home wife! This is a false stereotype!

Spinsters were pitied even more than working wives. My father used to laugh about teasing his 25 year old secretary, calling her an old maid. Karma has a sense of humor, too! But Dad didn’t get the joke when his own daughter became one. Take it from a spinster, there is equally as much pressure to be part of a couple today!

People are every bit as judgmental nowadays about everything, only more hypocritical about it!

Change isn’t always progress, sometimes it’s just mutation and no good results from it. They say the world has lost its moral compass. It’s lost more than that!

I wish only the negative aspects of the 50’s had been discarded while the good ones remained.

I am just days away from turning 65, the official start of geezerdom. It is scary to think that my time on this planet is winding down and old age, sickness, and death are ahead of me. I can feel my body getting older in little ways. Plus I worry about the ever rising cost of health care. I’m exploring other countries in which to retire.

 A part of me feels that going off to the Third World is the modern equivalent of being set adrift on an ice flow as the Eskimos did with their elderly. In North America, aging is regarded as something shameful, as if you have a choice.

But I feel fortunate to have experienced a different reality from the way the world is now and blessed despite so much unhappiness.

LOOKING AHEAD TO THAILAND IN 2016

Now that this trip is getting closer, the butterflies in my stomach have been replaced by bats gnawing & scratching at my insides. I am dreading the airport aggravation alone! The flight is a lengthy one to put it mildly. I am flying for 18 hours on Arab Emirates Airlines to Dubai. A 3 hour layover awaits me; from there it’s another 6 hours to Bangkok. This will be an entire day & night each way.

Since I’m going alone and terrible with directions, I opted for an escorted tour just like in the old days. During my 20’s, I did all my world traveling this way. Sure, I invited friends and plenty showed interest. But when it came to placing a deposit with a travel agent, I heard all variety of excuses why they couldn’t do it that year.  And the next it was a similar story! I decided that if I didn’t go alone, I’d never get to travel at all.

Back in the 1970’s I was never concerned about my health. A heart attack or stroke seemed as remote as the constellation Cassiopeia.  Nowadays, it’s constantly in the back of my mind that my father suffered his first heart attack when he was 10 years younger. And my mother died when she was only 7 years older than I am now.

I’ve been ordered by the Dept. of Health to get up and walk every waking hour for at least 15 minutes to avoid blood clots. “They’ll be lots of people walking around on that flight!” the doctor told me.

“But there are NOT a lot of places to walk!” I replied. “That narrow isle will be so crammed; we’ll all be doing it in shifts!” Also I purchased a pair of compression stockings. I can feel the old lady cooties licking my toes, already!

I selected a tour that hits all my major cities of interest. I plan to make the most of my time doing lots of touristy things. But this primarily is an exploratory or what the politicians refer to as a fact finding trip. Too bad I don’t hold political office or I could stick the taxpayers with the tab!

 I may end up calling this country home at some point in time, even if I choose to expatriate to Ecuador.

 I’m looking forward to visiting Ayuthaya, the capitol of Old Siam. Also I’m taking a cruise in a long-tailed boat on the Meo Kok River to visit a hill tribe village in Chiang Rai. Plus I’ll be seeing the ancient towns of Chiang Sen & Wat Phra That Chedi Luang.  I’m traveling up to the famous Golden Triangle where Thailand, Burma, & Laos all merge, and then it’s on to Chaing Mai to visit the ancient capitol of the Lamma Kingdom.  There’s a Khantoke dinner with a show which should be exciting and memorable. Later it’s a visit to an elephant camp with a jungle tour. Actually, several jungle tours are included, (better get that prescription for Malaria pills) and another long-tailed boat ride on the Pai River in Bangkok. My first night there features a Thai dinner and a classic dance performance. Plus many more activities I’m not going to detail here and now.

I’ve got THREE flights within Thailand to get around to all of these places!

I told the travel agent I was disappointed that I would not be going to the White Temple in Chiang Rai. (This HAS to be the coolest temple on the planet, Google it!!!) She phoned back and said the White Temple would be included. I asked if the other people would be inconvenienced.

“This is a private tour,” she stated. “There are no others, you will have a personal guide & driver. It’s not unusual in that part of the world.”

I was speechless. For a second, I felt like a V.I.P.!  Then I remembered I was traveling Economy Class in a 17 inch seat. That bubble burst fast!

Also I’ve arranged to visit a Retirement Home operated by a British family. Residents live in condos with balconies along a snaking river with mountains in the background. The online photos are absolutely dreamy. – I’m not ready for anything like that yet!  However, that day may come.

Was I not planning to sell my house and move to the Third World, a trip such as this would be out of the question. Plus I’ve forgone many things I enjoy. I’ve pinched a lot of pennies & nickels to afford this trip. One of the reasons I’m expatriating is to be able to afford these things.

After I return, there are serious decisions I need to make.

THE FRUITCAKE STOPS HERE

There’s a lame joke that seems to have been around forever, the one claiming that only one fruitcake exists and it gets passed around to everyone. Many have declared it the worst gift possible! Frankly, I’ve never understood why.  This delectable dessert was once proclaimed sinfully decadent and outlawed in 18^th century Europe.

Of course as my father used to say, “There’s fruitcake and then there’s FRUITCAKE! Not all fruitcakes are created equal.

 In MY world there are 4 categories:

1:  Drug Store Fruitcake.  The kind that gives it the bad rep! It’s hard, dry, fructose flavored, & dotted with neon green citron.                                                                                    

2:  Supermarket Bakery Fruitcake.   OK tasting, but nothing special.                               

 3:  Gourmet Gift Catalogue Fruitcake.  These are the Cadillac of fruitcakes, delicious but far from cheap!

4:  Great Grandma Fruitcake.  The ones of myth and legend, they are the Sasquatch of fruitcakes because they are so rare. According to my father, his German-born Grandmother made the best tasting ones ever! These were so extraordinary nothing else came close!  -- I’ve never actually tasted one myself.

Fruitcake goes all the way back to the ancient Egyptians. It was placed on tombs as an offering to the dead. Perhaps this is how its flavorless rumor began.

In various forms, fruitcake has been around as long as civilization. It was during Roman times that this dessert became common in ring shape.

Ancient Roman fruitcakes consisted of pine nuts, pomegranate seeds, & barley mash. During Medieval times; spices, honey, & preserved fruit were added. Sugar by the cupful was added during the 16^th century. Later candied fruits from the Mediterranean were added along with a variety of nuts. It was the Victorians who added alcohol.

These days, a gift fruitcake is usually the awful Drug Store variety. However, these can easily be made palatable with just a little creativity. Just take a slice, place it in a bowl, add 2 tablespoons of brandy, rum, or amaretto, (any more than 2 tablespoons and there’s too much icky alcohol taste!) cover and microwave for 25 seconds. Then add a scoop of ice cream if desired.

Personally, I don’t like to waste money on alcohol, (unless you’re an alcoholic you won’t miss it) I spread honey or maple syrup on top &, add chopped nuts. Remember, fruitcake is dessert! A dab of chocolate fudge sauce & whipped cream also work.

The best fruitcake I’ve ever tasted was the Hawaiian variety with pineapple & macadamia nuts. Now I’ve never liked pineapple, but I loved it in this! Also I don’t like apples (even in apple pie) but the dried ones in fruitcake greatly enhance the taste. The catalogue kind needs no doctoring.

Fruitcake tastes best when served with tangerine flavored tea, apricot works well, too.

Our first Christmas after moving to Vero Beach I was consumed with fruitcake fever! I looked forward to one gracing our holiday table in our new home. Just days before, my father & I were at the supermarket. That year, they displayed a wide variety. I drooled over every one, trying to decide.

 “Wait until the day after Christmas,” my father urged, “they’ll practically be giving them away! We’ll have one New Year’s Day!”

Reluctantly, I agreed. We returned then, also to buy holiday ornaments cheap, as well. These were mostly picked over. As for fruitcakes, there wasn’t ONE left in the store! We went to another supermarket, NO FRUITCAKES! Out of desperation we went to a Drug Store, nary a ONE there either!!!

This Christmas I’m going to splurge on a catalogue fruitcake because it may be my last one in this house. I don’t know what’s available in the Third World. Having one shipped is pricey, I’m sure. If I have to give fruitcake up entirely, I’ll miss it.

So now I’ve got catalogues spread out before me. Hmmm, perhaps I’ll get the tasty Southern version with lots of pecans, walnuts, & cherries. But wait, I see a chocolate variety! No, hold on, there’s one with blueberries & walnuts I really want to try! -- STOP! I need to be strong; I must choose ONE and only ONE!

Oh, but when I take that first bite little faeries tickle the sides of my mouth with honeyed wands. Christmas elves skip merrily across my teeth as a parade of tiny dancers & acrobats twirl and leap upon my tongue tossing colorful candied streamers. Ahhhh, fruitcake tastes like Christmas with all of its wonders and delights, m-m-m. Yum! Yum! Yum!

A VISIT TO GRANDMA'S HOUSE

The holiday season is only a hair’s breath away. For many, this means visiting relatives. Mine lived far away in a distant state when I was growing up. Unless you live in Florida like me, summer is probably just a memory by now. Here, the temperatures were still in the mid to high 80’s until recently.

I only stayed at my grandmother’s house once, and that was enough! That June of 1958 school had ended just a week before. My mother & I boarded a late night flight for Detroit, where I was born. The guys (Dad, Grandpa, & my brother) remained in Hobe Sound in our rented cottage across from the mangroves. 

Many of our Northern relatives & friends had not seen me since I was a year old. Back in 1952 my family packed our 2 cars and set off for a new life in the Sunshine State.

Now I had just completed my first year of elementary school and I was a big Second Grader!  At least that’s how I viewed myself.

After 5 days at Aunt Kiki’s house, Mom & I planned to spend the remaining 5 at my grandmother’s place. This was the house where Mom and her 3 sisters had grown up. Grandma lived in a distant part of Detroit and it felt like a long drive.

On the way over, a sense of gloom swept over me. Perhaps it was all those stories about Grandma I’d heard from relatives. I always had the feeling her daughters cared for her more out of duty, than love. This was the only grandmother I had ever known.  My paternal grandmom died when my dad was 7 years old.

Grandma was a strict Pentecostal, (Holy Roller) she wouldn’t even allow a Christmas tree in the home because she considered it pagan.  My mother never had a meal inside a restaurant until after she was married. Dad used to say she was afraid to go inside one on dates!

My mother’s family was poor. They rented their upstairs and basement to boarders. The family was confined to the small downstairs area. A practice my Grandmother continued long after her husband died and her daughters married and moved out.

Once we entered Grandma’s neighborhood I could feel it in the air. All the houses were from another era. Had it not been for the traffic on the street, I could swear I’d gone back in time.

The inside of her home smelled like a crypt. Everything looked depressingly worn and outdated. It was a far cry from Aunt Kiki’s elegant and spacious house.

My grandma appeared deceptively frail. She was actually feisty and mean. I was her ONLY granddaughter, all the others were boys! Right away she didn’t like my blonde hair. My mother pointed out that it was growing in darker in the back and I probably wouldn’t stay blonde for long.

The only other natural blonde in our family was her daughter Kiki (the family slut) who caused Granny grief. Kiki married well, but later thought she could do better and lost everything. Kiki’s hair also darkened, but she bleached it back in her late teens, as did I.

We were introduced to the upstairs tenants, an older childless couple. Later, we met the renter in the basement, a Hispanic man in his early 30’s.

Next door on the right was a family of foreigners, from an Eastern European country. The daughter was a slim, pretty girl about 11 or maybe 12. She had black curls all over her head.  She seemed more of a young lady to me than a child. I watched her and her girlfriends on their front step from my Grandmother’s bay window. The other children in the house were younger boys.

Mom did all the grocery shopping during our visit. As I sat snacking on crackers Grandma leaned over. “Soda crackers dry up your blood,” she proclaimed. She swore a nurse told her this as fact!

I went outside to play. The back yard was tiny. There was nothing to do except eat the peeling lead paint chips off the old house.

I didn’t learn until a decade later this was injurious to my health! -- If they don’t want children eating lead paint chips why did they make them so damn tasty! Anyway, I hope they haven’t caused any long term effects. – Hey, at least they didn’t dry up my blood!

Family friends were constantly dropping over to marvel at how I had grown. Everyone vividly recalled the day I was born. I heard repeatedly how Mom had been rushed from a Beauty Salon to the Hospital. I came into the world in the early evening.  I’ve since heard this is the least likely time for a baby to be born.

After the last one left, I gave sigh of exhaustion and declared I was going outside. “And stay out!” my grandmother snapped. I was stunned, during this visit I had been on my best behavior.

Outside, I sat on the grass. I heard someone approaching from behind. I turned and gazed up into the beautiful smiling visage of the girl next door. She introduced herself and was quite friendly and pleasant. She thought my mother & I were new upstairs tenants. I explained that the old woman was my grandmother and I would be leaving on a plane for Florida, soon. She left shortly after I told her this.

Ironically, that evening, my mother reminded me how Grandma used to cut a switch from the cherry tree and whip her and her sisters over every minor infraction. She implied that I was actually seeing a mellower version of my grandmother.

Late the following afternoon, I was in the back yard as my mother packed to leave. I heard a loud scream and then another emanating from the house next door. The screaming turned to piercing shrieks. Those horrid sounds grew increasingly worse! It was THAT girl!!! I heard her cry out, “Stop!” several times followed by long, shrill wails. What were they doing to her!? What horrible act had she committed to deserve such a thing, or perhaps they were just horrible parents.

I wanted those awful sounds to stop!!! I wanted to help her, but I felt small and powerless. I couldn’t stand to hear it any longer! I went indoors.

 

I never mentioned it to either my mother or grandmother. I knew I would just be told, “It's not our concern" and to forget it. This is how people thought back then. To put this in modern terms, reacting negatively would have been considered judgmental.

Later, my uncle came and took us back to Kiki’s house. That night, we would catch our flight home.

After returning, my older friend Sharla came down from Stuart with her mom. I related this awful incident to her.

“Why didn’t you go over there and tell them to stop!” she snapped. Sharla glowered accusingly at me.

“I was afraid!” I exclaimed. “They might do to me what they were doing to her!” I thought Sharla was crazy for even asking me that!

 “Aw they couldn’t do anything to YOU!” she replied. “You weren’t their child! The worse they could have done was tell you to leave.”

Well I wasn’t so sure, just months before, I watched my otherwise kindly, old teacher paddle a boy until he cried before the entire class. And he wasn’t HER child, either! Plus this was far from a rare occurrence.

I was eager to see my other friend, Noreen. I thought she would understand! Neither of us got along with our mothers, we used to commiserate, this was our bond. But as soon as I confided that I didn’t like my grandmother and never wanted to see her again, I was flabbergasted by Noreen’s reaction.

“Shame on you!” she hollered. “Don’t you dare talk dirt about your grandmother!  Grandmothers are nice!!!”

“Not all of them!” I shouted back. We argued back and forth. She refused to listen. Finally, I just walked out. The incident was never brought up.

While Mom & I were up North, my father landed a great new job! In another week, we would be leaving Hobe Sound and moving back up the coast to Stuart.

I never said good-bye to Noreen. She is mostly forgotten, and so is Sharla, now. But after all these decades I remain saddened by the memory of the pretty girl with the black curls.

EMOTION FLAVORS & THE HORROR SHOW

American Horror Story has been one of my favorite TV shows ever since the premier. But I’ve found this season disappointing. My weekly stay at the Hotel Cortez feels unpleasant rather than interesting. There is gruesome violence aplenty, but few scares. It comes across as a bloody convoluted mess! I miss that delicious tingle of anticipation racing down my back!

Also I miss Jessica Lange! Sarah Paulson seems to be trying hard to channel her, but looks forced and fake. She comes across as a caricature. And beautiful Lily Rabe has always been one of my favorite characters no matter her role, except this one. I didn’t appreciate seeing her uglied up as Aileen Wuomos. I just wanted that character to go away.

In the past, it’s always been the female stars that shine brightest in this show.

This time around, we’ve got Lady Gaga as a vampire Countess. I’m a fan of her fun style of couture, but not her music. I’m not sure if the problem is her, the current theme, or both. But the Hotel Cortez is a stinking ruin that begs to be dynamited!

In the Nov. 11 episode, titled ROOM 33, the Countess describes love as tasting like rose water and betrayal as having that taste of char on meat. GADZOOKS, REALLY!!! Apparently this character has been a vampire so long she has forgotten what food actually tastes like! This is way off!

In a previous blog, I revealed that I have a disorder called synesthesia causing me to taste names. For example: Rachael tastes like barley porridge, Polly tastes like scones with jam, and Irene spiked cake. Perhaps for this reason, I believe I have a better sense of how emotions actually taste than this vampire character.

Betrayal tastes like vinegar. And the bawdy lust this character refers to as love, I should think would taste more like candy to her than rose water.

I would imagine pure (non-sexual) love, the kind you feel for your father, dearest friend, or dog would taste like honey butter. Friendship tastes like sweet citrus fruit or summer berries. Happiness is hazelnut coffee topped with whipped cream, cinnamon, & a peppermint stick.

 Below are more:

 Suspicion - raw onions

 Anger -wasabi sauce

Rage- Jalapeño peppers

Terror – brain freeze after ice cream.  If it’s the good kind of fear, you want another bite!

Repulsion- sour milk

This season of American Horror Story looked like a wickedly delicious casserole until I took a bite. Several ingredients are overdone, some don’t belong and others are past their expiration date. Somehow it’s still palatable, but just barely. And it leaves a bad taste in my mouth afterward.

THE KNEES HAVE IT

Not long ago, I came across an online article titled, THIGH BROWS. Out of pure curiosity I clicked it. Sorry I did! It must have been a sluggish news day. I discovered that thigh brows (the crease where your thighs & hips meet) are supposed to be nicely rounded. Yet another new standard for beauty! Featured were over-rated, bimbo celebrities in their bikinis, a Kardashian among them.

I ran to the mirror to check mine! Despite the fact I’m pushing 65, I’ll be vain till the day I die. I’ve always taken good care of myself. -- Well, not only do mine NOT arch, they have a deep downward slant. The kind you would find on evil Dragon Ladies & demons in graphic novels. – I’m a good person, I swear!

Then I looked at the photos again. I noticed those women had THUNDER THIGHS, especially the Kardashian. Well not me! I was always embarrassed in Gym Class by my slender boy thighs. A plastic surgeon I met at a festival told me he had patients who would kill to have mine! I suspect he was just being polite, but it made me feel good.

Plus I possess the much coveted thigh gap when my feet are together. Personally, I think legs WITHOUT this space are prettier and look more feminine. I’ve always thought of this gap as a defect. Guess I was just misfortunate enough to be young during the wrong decade.

Standards of beauty keep evolving and devolving, just look at history! In ancient Greece, women with thick waists were considered more desirable than those with narrow ones. During the 1800’s plump women with ant waists were the ideal. In George Washington’s time, you were lucky to be petite and now it’s tall etc, etc, etc!

Since I’m on the subject of body parts, don’t TOES count for anything? Mine are about as perfect as can be. And I’m not talking about just ONE or TWO, by golly, I mean all TEN!!! Plus I can even pick up coins with them. Yup, no brag just fact.

I shouldn’t continue, because by now, I’m sure most readers are so envious they probably want to garrote me. Well eat your heart out!!! Because I haven’t yet revealed the feature that makes my body truly SPECIAL!  It’s my KNEES! The dimples there form actual faces. And both look like Charles Durning. (I’m not kidding!) In the left one he’s grimacing. -- Hey, Charles Durning was an extraordinary actor!!! He appeared in over 200 movies, plays, & TV shows. SO THERE!!! Aware of this knowledge, I strut with pride… Jealous much!