By lex, on August 12th, 2007
Having first be-churched ourselves this morning just the two of us, off we went to a bit of the old brunch. Then it was back to the homestead where two teenage daughters lay abed with an out of school 21-year old midshipman – himself but recently returned from the Elysian fields Downunda – serving as a kind of role model, like. Separate beds you understand, our family being close, but not as who would say “that close.”
Not like that.
By the time we had returned they had sufficiently bestirred themselves to wonder what might be for breakfast. Sandwiches, in the event, bought from the local, a place commonly agreed to be most suitable for the purpose. After dropping the Biscuit off to grab what’s left of summer at the beach in Del Mar it was time to take the Kat off to Bonsall, for to go to camp.
Rawhide Ranch is the location, courtesy of yourselves as it were. For which we once again give thanks. All studied up too, and it’s high hopes we have that Wrangler status is soon to be conveyed. I guess I should share with you that your generosity was sufficiently superabundant for to sponsor eldest daughter’s visit to a camp of her own ** last week, which otherwise might have come to naught, things being as they are. So, it’s passing the baton they’ve done, with the net result of one less daughter here at home than a perfect equilibrium requires but it is the summertime after all, and were we not ourselves once young?
We were. Believe it or don’t.
I’d have pictures too, herself all smiling at the dropping off, except for the fact that the widget which connects the camera to the computer has gone adrift so for the meantime you’ll have to take my word for it. As you will for my description of her camp counselor, a striking Australian Amazon of mebbe 6’5″ vertical clearance, blessed as she was with the face of an angel and proportions that would on a man of similar height be called “lanky” but which were, on her, elsewise evocative.
The Lady and ourself had a bit of a convo on the RTB, discussing the wonder that is man, or in this cases woman, in all of his (her) variety. Right shocked we were that such as she had not been scarfed up for to stride on some Parisian fashion runway or else make teh glowering faces for glamor shoots in Manhattan, like. For does it not strike you as passing strange, gentle reader, that the “modeling” set is by and large made up of such extreme rarities such as she, women of physical construction so unique as to nearly defy the archetype? Pattern them by height against heft with points on for cheekbones you could shave with and I’d bet you’d find yourself in the statistical region of perhaps one in ten thousand.
And yet these are represented to us as “models.” As though this were the standard from which the rest of womanhood deviates.
We have been deceived.
Which conversation then segued us into a discussion of the kinds of $3000+ dresses one might buy at such a fashion show. Who is it, we wondered to ourselves, who was both so genetically endowed to fit into such accoutrements on the one hand, and sufficiently well-heeled to afford it on the other? In attempting to understand the economic underpinnings of this market, something came to mind about the multiplications of already impossibly small fractions. This is not to say that there are not many several legions of strikingly tall, lean and chiseled 20-something Australian?
** 08-14-2018 Original link gone; replacement found – Ed.