Dame

Dame: (n) a term used to reference a woman

They build corrals so horses won’t escape.

In doing so, they are admitting that the horses don’t really want to be there. Apparently, the beasts aren’t impressed with a barn and three meals of hay a day.

They want outta there.

To a horse, a stable is a prison. (Or what you might consider unstable.)

Corralling seems to be one of the favored activities of our current world. I don’t think there’s a sentence I could write that someone could not ardently peruse to discover offensive material within.

Why? Because we’re not interested in cleverness and inspiration. We’re only determined to establish our entity by critiquing the thoughts of others.

I can’t keep it straight.

I thought calling a woman a “chick” was extraordinarily out of whack, until some teenagers explained to me that it was “cool, cute and even kind of sexy.”

I guess it’s still incorrect to refer to a lady as a “broad,” unless you’re doing it as a bold compliment, like: “That Senator from California is one tough broad.”

Of course, there are words that are offensive.

The use of the “c word” for a woman is incomprehensible.

I don’t like “bitch”—but women will turn around and call themselves bitches. (I suppose that’s the same thing as when a black person wants to call himself the “n word.”)

I just don’t know.

I’m lost in the desert here without a canteen.

So the word “dame” is not only nasty, but it’s also so old-time that it makes you look like you fell off the turnip truck on your way to market—not only prohibited, but Grandpa-like.

Now, normally we extol things that are traditional as having lasting merit, but in this case, “dame” sounds like the language of the Bowery Boys (and of course, nobody knows who the Bowery Boys are anymore.)

Don’t get me wrong. This is not a lamentation.

I find it intriguing to keep up with words that have flow, character and veracity.

But every once in a while, I’m like that stallion that finds out where the corral begins and has a hankerin’ to take a leap over it.

Clothes

Clothes: (n) items worn to cover the body.

“The clothes make the man.” Unless she’s a woman.

Why do the clothes make anything?

Here’s the truth:  clothes look very good on people who would look very good without them.

If you do not look very good without clothes, draping cloth over you does not do a lot to jazz your appearance.

It can communicate wealth. I suppose it can pass along the image of style. But if you look fairly rotund without clothing, clothing is like putting drapes on a wide window.

People who are slender can put on a suit and look very proficient and businesslike. People who are portly always have to worry about whether they should unbutton the coat when they sit, for fear of launching a button.

Women who are lean can wear a dress and make it look pretty much look like the hanger it was hung upon, while women who are more “Greek” in their shape can take a perfectly lovely dress and make it appear very broad at the beam.

We are happy to wear clothes simply because they hide a multitude of fleshly sins. Yet there is no outfit that can completely disguise what lies within.

I’ve spent a lot of money on clothes and I’ve spent a little money on clothes–and at the end, the tally was, “what you see is basically what you get.”

 

 

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Broad

j-r-practix-with-border-2

Broad: (adj) an ample distance from side to side; wide.

We are a peculiar people.Dictionary B

Every July 3rd in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, we commemorate Pickett’s Charge, where thousands of Southern gentlemen attacked a wall of cannon at the bequest of an aging general who was in the midst of having a minor heart attack due to the summer’s heat.

But for some reason we call that brave.

We paint the picture of humanity with broad strokes.

We weep over acts of patriotism or occasions in which hundreds of thousands of us merge into a common trough.

But I am personally stalled by the warning from a Nazarene from two thousand years ago, who stated, “Broad is the way to destruction.”

It is shoulder-to-shoulder that we march to hell–unaware of our destination, but satisfied that we are right…because we are not alone.

What foolishness.

The best decisions of my life always happen absent human hovering.

When I’m on the “strait and narrow” of my passion, angels of authenticity are prompted to whisper in my ear.

If not, I am inundated by the bad breath of baffled Bohemians.

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