A real head scratcher...

   OK, so here's the situation. While buying a hot, sticky cinnamon bun and a latte this morning at my favorite coffee shop, my attention was diverted by a stunning young lady exiting from the bathroom. She had on super tight, super small shorts, and a stomach-skimming, cropped T-shirt. Her stunning-ness wasn't so much about her face - which was fresh and pretty, but nothing shockingly so - but more about her long legs, and her very skimpy outfit. 

   I watched her cross the coffee shop and then stop at a table where there was an incredibly frumpy looking middle-aged woman, wearing one of those believed to be figure hiding ensembles - you know, the kind that just shapelessly drapes over the body in an effort to "conceal" flaws that simply can't be hidden? I quickly surmised that this older gal was the girl's mother. (Well, I guess I picked up that fact because the lovely girl said, "You ready to go Mom?")

   Anyway, as I watched the two women gathering their things, I was feeling a bit ashamed of the cinnamon bun I had just ordered. (To have a lovely figure like this girl has, you can't go around eating cinnamon buns, now can you!) That's when I heard the mother shout, in a sharp, rather alarming tone, "Get control of your eyes!" For a second, I thought she was speaking to me, but then I realized there was a man standing right behind me, and - I'm just guessing here - I think he must have noticed this woman's daughter as well. 

   The two ladies marched out of the coffee shop with a huff of self-righteousness, but not before the mother had a chance to zap the man behind me with her hateful stare. Once the room was all clear, nearly everyone seated in the immediate area let out nervous laughs and commentaries like, "Whatever!" and "What a beast!" The guy behind me seemed to take some solace in the fact that other people in the room were struck by the exchange as well. And it seemed that people's reaction almost made him the victim! And I'll be honest, there was a tiny part of me that felt a little sorry for him, too, because the mother's upset seemed so hateful and personal.

    But as I slathered on a layer of real butter (only on the outer section of my roll that didn't get enough frosting), I began to really wonder about who was ultimately responsible for what went down in that exchange. Does the mother have the right to be upset at a man for looking at her daughter with lust in his eyes when her daughter is going out of her way to flaunt her great body? Does the man have a responsibility to keep his eyes diverted when a woman openly exposes that much of herself in the middle of a public coffee shop? And what about the sexy girl? Was this her plan? Did she hope to get this kind of attention from the men she passed by, while wearing this eye-catching number?

    As I pondered all of these thoughts and replayed the situation in my head, I became convicted of the fact that there were likely multiple things going on during this exchange. Could it be that the mother had some jealous feelings about the attention her daughter was getting and lashed out? Maybe. I don't think this is an uncommon phenomenon - especially in these modern times where women seem to be competing at ever turn with each other, whether they are related or not! And to me, it seems like when women compete, it is for some kind of brass-ring achievement anyway (like male attention, for example).

   Or what about the idea that the mother was actually upset at her daughter but didn't have enough confidence to reprimand her flesh-and-blood, and instead, took it out on a stranger. I do see that many women have trouble confronting other women with truth because they fear losing the relationship or connection. So maybe this mother was a bit troubled or even embarrassed by what her daughter was wearing, but just couldn't find a way to share her concerns with her daughter. Perhaps this caused her frustrations to mount up and suddenly, without warning, she lashed out at the first man she made eye-contact with!

   And what about the man. Was he out of line? Sure. But when have guys ever not struggled with looking?! It's how they are made. And in this day and age, women are decadently presented for the world to see - much like the bakery case, filled with confectionary bliss, that once housed the cinnamon bun resting on my plate! How is a normal person supposed to control the lust for something so decadent when it is displayed in such a way for creating temptation?

   Clearly the daughter didn't mind the attention, and that's where my thoughts have stayed put. If she found the gaze of lusting men in my favorite coffee shop offensive, she certainly didn't let on. Looking back, I even recall that she lifted her leg seductively as she reached down to pick up her purse. I am going to take a wild guess here, but I have a feeling this girl knew exactly what she was doing this morning when she dressed herself and checked her reflection in the mirror. She new the power she could have over men by showing off her body. (But I have to wonder if she realizes what this "power" is doing to her mother!)

   So now I'm left to wonder, and scratch my head a bit. How do we as women protect each other, own our greatness and beauty, and live out our lives with respect and dignity if we can't find a balance. There simply are no collectively accepted rules of etiquette or codes of conduct anymore - particularly among women these days. And to me, this seems like a scary place to be. 

   

 

Strawberry Shortcake - She is just a fond memory...

   I had this little doll when I was around 7 or 8 called Strawberry Shortcake. She was this cute little collectable toy with red hair, a starched-white pinafore, strawberry-patterned bloomers and a funny little bonnet. But the most notable thing about her was the fact that if you took a good sniff of her head, she smelled of sweet, luscious strawberries. Yum!! 

   Oh! And did I mention that she had yummy friends? There was another doll that smelled just like apricots and one that was scented with peaches and cream, and I'm pretty sure there was a sister that wore the scent of zesty blueberries, too. I loved these dolls - mostly because they also had the kind of hair your could comb, and you could even wash them without taking away their lovely scents (which is a huge bonus when you are OCD!) But the very best part of all was the fact that they were very innocent and silly, just the way childhood should be.

   So you can imagine my sadness when earlier this week, USA Today revealed that the makers of this classic toy felt the need to "revamp" Strawberry Shortcake to make her more "relevant" to today's young girl. The new and improved Strawberry Shortcake now has a thiner face, longer, more flowing hair, and a more realistic girl-like body. Oh, and did I mention that she also has painted lips and no awkward freckles on her nose?

   I know it's ridiculous, but as I read more about this new, more modern version of one of my childhood favs, I actually felt a sense of sorrow. Why isn't the old version good enough for the new youth of America? Is the doll that inspired me so much that I still remember her at age 36 not good enough for the child of today? Why isn't something innocent relevant to childhood anymore?

   As a younger sister, I used to find myself wishing that I could be in stride with the things my sister did. (In fact, I was recently thinking of how badly I wanted to wear my sister's training bra when my mother finally decided the time had come to get my sister's boobs under control. I think I even remember sitting outside her locked bedroom door, begging her to let me wear one of her tiny training bras - specifically the one with the tennis racket details sewn right into the center - to school the next day.) For my mom and me, it was a constant battle to keep my little mind where it needed to be so I could enjoy being Sonja at every age.

  And, as is the classic case when it comes to my mom, she used to say something poignant and pithy to me during those times when I was a puddle outside my sister's room: Sonja, you can always grow up, but you can't grow down.

   She was right. You can't go back into a time of innocence and blissful ignorance once you start to see too much. When the things you are exposed to rob you of the refreshing freedom of not knowing or fully understanding the cruel realities of the world around you, the layers of happiness start to pull away. When you enter into a time and place where a toy has to be "relevant" to an adult perception of what's important in a young girl's world, there goes childhood.

   So tonight as I post this long awaited entry, I want to send a shout out to my mom, the late Diana Jean Bentley. Thanks for holding onto my youth for me, and for whispering truth in my ear. Thanks for giving me a childhood where a dolly in bloomers and a bonnet inspired me to enjoy my time of innocence.