Many of you know that one of our most tried and true “beauty tips” for younger looking skin here at Southern Beauty is sleeping on a satin pillowcase.  Well, Girls, I think I have now found a pillowcase “fit for a Queen” in the Branché Charmeuse Case.  Not only is it made of beautiful and thick silk charmeuse, it is also incredibly soft and resilient and is truly the ultimate in luxury.

Sleeping on a satin pillowcase protects the delicate facial skin and prevents wrinkles by minimizing facial creases.  It also extends the life of your hairstyle by diminishing frizz and helps keep curls smooth.  Another great benefit is that it reduces hair loss and breakage and it also helps promote a more restful night of much needed sleep.  This is a fact that cannot be denied as I now find that I just can’t sleep without my Charmeuse Case!

Donna Hinds, the creator and owner of Branché, was born and raised in the small town of Hannibal, Missouri, famous for Mark Twain’s boyhood stories.  As a child, Donna had always admired the smooth satiny pillow slip which had been part of her mother’s bridal trousseau.  Donna’s early love of textiles unfolded into creating Branché, her own line of women’s fashion and in 1994, Branché became one of the first environmentally friendly lines.  The name, taken from the French term for “hip” & “connected”, was perfect for the company that is a true reflection of Donna’s personality which incorporates her design degree with her yoga certification, energetic healing studies and organic lifestyle.

Dear GAB,

We baby boomers raised our kids with the help of baby monitors and nanny cams and now, in our role as the “meat” of the sandwich generation, we’re discovering that there is technology available that can help us keep tabs on our aging parents. I understand the benefits these inventions offer but do you think it’s a violation of our parents’ right of privacy to use these monitoring devices?

                                                                              Signed,

                                                                              Reluctant Spy

Dear Reluctant,

The developments in “aging-in-place technology” further the laudable goal of allowing our parents to safely stay in their own homes and out of nursing homes. Through devices and sensors already available, and other inventions on the cusp, we can monitor who’s ringing their door bell or calling their phone, whether they’ve taken their medication, waken up in the middle of the night or gotten out of bed, their heart rate, blood pressure, glucose levels, and even how much time they’ve spent in the bathroom. Some systems include one or two way video cameras, allowing us to watch our parents going about their daily routine.

GPS devices in their shoes keep track of the wanderings of parents with dementia and soon we’ll be able to implant microchips containing health records of seniors who might be discovered unconscious. (My prediction is that these latter two technologies will merge when people realize patients with dementia don’t necessarily put their shoes on before they walk out the front door.)

These inventions may become critical tools in our effort to protect and care for our aging parents, but I completely understand your delicate concerns about invading your parents’ privacy, especially since payback is right around the corner. You see, before we know it the tables will be turned and our kids will become the salami of the sandwich generation. It will be information about our  most intimate habits and bodily functions that will be sent via email alerts or text messages to their iphones.

Makes you wonder if instead of watching YouTube, our kids will amuse themselves viewing videos of mom wandering aimlessly from room to room, or dad trying to remember where he put his glasses, startling us as their voices boom out from the discreetly hidden speakers: “They’re in the fridge, Dad!”

This scenario raises many fears in my mind. For one, I worry that I will be too boring to watch for very long, like those animals in the zoo that one glances at momentarily and then moves on. What then for my safety and security if my caregivers start channel surfing? It would be tempting to contemplate keeping our voyeuristic offspring glued to the screen with some uninhibited octogenarian love making, but the thought is too depressing. (Not the voyeuristic part so much, but the thought that we might still have to deal with sex in our eighties.)

But what will our kids really hope or expect to see from these recordings? It seems to me they’ll be waiting for the big event – the catastrophe that justifies the substantial investment in the system: “Look Jenna! Mom’s fallen down and can’t get up. Now aren’t you glad we spent all that money on video cameras?” I know our kids won’t wish us ill, but discoveries like that are really the point of the whole thing. And there we will be splayed and immobile on the floor, hoping the camera angle happens to be trained in just the right direction.

And, lest anyone become too complacent, it’s worth remembering that the technology is only as good as the people monitoring it. And so I worry – how will my ADHD daughter be able to monitor the text messages regarding the regularity of my bowel movements if she keeps losing her cell phone?

But allow me to direct your attention, Reluctant, to another invention that I’m not sure isn’t more frightening than comforting. It’s the “med-cottage”, sometimes referred to as a “granny-pod”. This is a structure installed in the backyards of adult children who don’t want their parents actually living inside their houses, but also don’t want to send them to nursing homes. Please take a moment to imagine a hybrid between a hotel room and a doghouse, only wired with motion detectors, video cameras and other state-of-the-art surveillance equipment.

I can’t rid myself of the image of each of us staring mournfully out of the windows of our Little Houses on the Prairie, our respective noses pressed against the glass as we watch our families in the “Big House” sitting around a table in a brightly lit room, enjoying a comfortable meal, laughing and, perhaps, singing. And then a tornado comes along and, like Dorothy’s house in Kansas, our lightweight trailer-park-for-one is swept up into the funnel cloud and carried off. Unaware, the family in the big house keeps on singing.

Well, here’s my thought for what it’s worth: If that’s how I’m going to be “aging-in-place”, then I’d like to be allowed to age in some other place, please – preferably one where the backyard has a nice pool.

Signed,

GAB

“Alisa Singer’s humorous essays have appeared in a variety of print and online newspapers and magazines across the country and in Canada. She is the author of various gift books designed to entertain and amuse baby boomers. Her newest book, When a Girl Goes From Bobby Sox to Compression Stockings…She Gets a Little Cranky, is available at www.Lulu.com. You can learn more about her work by visiting her website: www.AlisaSinger.com or contacting her at ASingerAuthor@gmail.com.”

When I was in high school I had attended a dance after a football game. I’m not much of a dancer now and I was even worse back then, but I knew how to get my slow dance on.  As my buddies and I were checking out the girls my radar went off.  That’s the one.  So I took a deep breath and asked her to dance in my shy little voice and she said yes.  I was just about to walk away from her when I realized she had said yes and wasn’t laughing.

We started dancing, she was very cute and I was very nervous. My face was buried in her big 1980′s hair and thinking “Gee your hair smells terrific!”  Then I told two people and they told two people and so forth and so on.  I never did get paid for coming up with that commercial either.

I was chewing on a piece of gum and when the dance was over I realized later that my gum was gone.  What the heck?  I was so nervous I probably just swallowed it.  After a few fast songs another slow song finally comes on.  She said yes once so maybe I’ll try my luck again.

I went to look for her and when I saw her I froze up like a statue.  Not because I was nervous this time, but because I realized that I had also just found my gum.  That’s right, hanging from her hair.  Daaaaaang!

Since it was a slow song I just slowly turned and walked away. I’m not sure when she ever found it and I never asked.  I did, however, learn a very valuable lesson from that experience that I can explain in just two words. “Tic Tac!”  I’m just sayin’.

A few times I would get lucky and find a pair of jeans that I thought were the perfect ones, but in the end there was always something that didn’t exactly work.  Until recently, the only ”perfect” pair of jeans that I thought existed are in a movie called “The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants.”  (Lets face it, that pair of jeans made those four girls look and feel great!)  However, that was Hollywood and we live in the real world. 

So, if cost wasn’t an issue why couldn’t I find the perfect fit?  

Not long ago the fashion industry came close to creating the perfect pair of jeans when they incorporated stretch into the fabric.  However, most of those jeans still weren’t exactly right for me.  Because of the way the fabric was cut, they felt tight and restricted my movements.  And some of them had too much ”give” and would become stretched-out within the first hour of putting them on.  (Which was not a pretty site at all.)  I had almost given up until I discovered Marc Allison Jeans!

What’s so special about these jeans you ask? 

Well, Marc Allison Jeans are made with a fabric that offers a four-way XRT stretch denim infused with Supima cotton.  The creator, Marc Flashberg, of Marc Allison Jeans, learned of a yarn that would allow denim to stretch in the length as well as the width.  This denim offers unique fiber memory that sculpts the body and maintains its shape day after day wash after wash.  When you hear the expression “Fits Like a Glove” these jeans do just that.  Marc believes that jeans should be able to move with the body, retain their shape and look good.  I definitely agree and I’m so glad to have finally found the perfect pair! 

Marc Allison Jeans are available in select stores and online at www.marcallisonjeans.com.

Price: $175-$200

Fit/Sizes: – Skinny, Straight Leg, Boot Cut and Classic Bell / Sizes 24-32

A few years back my two boys, Josh and Alex, had been spending an awful lot of time out in the barn working on something. I finally got curious and headed out across the yard to see what they were up to.

They were working on a top secret project and no one was to know about it until it was done. Ok, no problem, I can take a hint. So I picked up my tools, drooped my head and shoulders, and then slowly walked away with my lip dragging the ground.

I had every intention of sneaking back out there later to see what they were doing but “King of the Hill” came on but I forgot all about it.

A day or two later the boys are done with their project and Melissa and I are summoned to the grand “unveiling.”  We’re told to stand on the road at the bottom of the hill in front of our house. 

Suddenly, two go-carts appear at the top of the hill.  Josh gets in one and Alex gets in the other.  We realize that it’s a race and Melissa and I are the finish line.

So here they come hauling butt down the hill and it’s going to be close.  Josh is in the lead then Alex passes him up.  Josh catches him and now they are neck and neck.

I’m really getting into it cause I love a good race.

Melissa and I are screaming and yelling and jumping up and down. It’s Josh… it’s Alex… it’s a photo finish!

As they cross the finish line Melissa and I just give each other a funny look.  I can’t believe it.  It can’t be.  Craaaaap!

My missing guitar case gets first place and Melissa’s missing ironing board comes in second! Looks like we are going to have to take inventory in the house and lock everything up.  I have to hand it to them though, they are very creative.  I’m just sayin’.

The other morning I made a ruckus trying to get my chronically late teenager up in time for school. She pleaded for “just another ten minutes” but I yelled, screamed and threatened waterboarding until I got her up and into the bathroom. But when she hadn’t surfaced a half hour later I peeked in to find her curled up on the floor of the shower, sleeping, or pretending to sleep. She was going to get those extra ten minutes one way or another. My daughter was treating me to a taste of passive aggressive behavior; better said, she was treating herself, because passive aggression is not only one of the most underrated tools in our arsenal, it’s also one of the most satisfying. (More about that later.)

For those of you who are not regular users, passive aggression can best be described as a statement or act that appears on the surface to be innocent or even sweet, but is actually motivated by hostility, containing a hidden barb of some sort – a sugar-coated pill with a really bad aftertaste. This compliment, for example, from a slim woman to a heavy one: “How brave of you to wear leggings!” It’s the kind of behavior that characterizes the so-called “mean girls.”

So, mean girls, mean women, how did we get to be that way? After all, evolutionary psychologists tell us we’re programmed to be pleasers.  When the cavemen went off to hunt, the women stayed behind to care for the kids, bonding together in the face of danger and finding safety in numbers. They had little choice – a woman fleeing from a saber-tooth tiger with an infant hanging from her breast and a toddler in tow was not likely to achieve a personal best for the 400 meter run.

Exclusion from the protection of the clan posed an existential threat – you could starve or be eaten by predators – so the cave women learned to get along, spritzing each other with oxytocin and becoming BFFs. And they learned to express anger in safe, subtle ways. Since the outright expression of hostility was dangerous, passive aggression was born to fill the gap between mute compliance and rebellion.

My family recently presented me with yet another excellent example of passive aggression. (Apparently we are very good at this.) My mother had just learned that she had been excuded from the birthday party of Joan, a member of her social circle. Truth be told, she was not overly fond of Joan and, in fact, rather disliked her. Nonetheless, she felt snubbed. I was with my mom when she first heard about this and as she mulled over the situation. After a while she announced:  “I think I”ll get her a nice present.” 

On the surface this would appear to be a generous impulse.  However, knowing my mother, this was not a selfless gesture but the stroke of a master manipulator. She could have opted for direct, honest confrontation, but that would have been potentially disruptive to the balance of relationships. Equally important, it would have all been over too soon.

Woody Allen once described a debate he and his wife had about whether to use their savings to take a nice vacation or to get a divorce. They opted for the divorce, reasoning that a vacation is over in a week, but a divorce is something you’ll always have. Open aggression is like a nice vacation – momentarily satisfying but then, you know, it’s over and you’re left with a hefty bill.  But the pleasures of passive aggression go on and on.

To illustrate, the scenario between my mother and Joan might play out like this:  My mother would pretend not to know about the party and send a thoughtful gift. First, she would enjoy imagining Joan’s discomfort upon receiving the present. Then, Joan would call and thank her, feeling obliged to extend an invite to the party, thereby allowing my mom the further joy of turning her down with all the sweet insincerity she could muster. Or the plot might thicken. Joan could send a thank you note but fail to proffer the expected invitation. Then my mother would have to wonder  – was Joan “on to her” and retaliating in kind, or was she the rare woman that was simply immune to guilt and other devious tactics?  Either way, the game promised to be highly entertaining. 

But here we are in the 21^st century and it’s fair to ask the question: Why are we still afraid to openly express our negative feelings? The saber-tooth tigers are long gone. A third of the country is obese so there appears to be plenty of food.  And the men, well not the hunters they used to be, are they? So why aren’t we teaching our daughters:  “If you have nothing nice to say, …   just come right out and say it!”

I believe the reason is that straightforward and honest aggression is just not as much fun as the insidious kind, the kind that has delighted and amused women since long before the Pleistocene era. And who are we to tamper with such a time-honored tradition?

So let’s pass along this admonition, instead: “If you have nothing nice to say, just say something that sounds really nice.”

 “Alisa Singer’s humorous essays have appeared in a variety of print and online newspapers and magazines across the country and in Canada. She is the author of various gift books designed to entertain and amuse baby boomers. Her newest book, When a Girl Goes From Bobby Sox to Compression Stockings…She Gets a Little Cranky, is available at www.Lulu.com. You can learn more about her work by visiting her website: www.AlisaSinger.com or contacting her at ASingerAuthor@gmail.com.”

A few years back we had a huge New Years Eve party at my house. I had bought tons of fireworks and I had planned to put on a big display for my guest. Behind my house is a large clearing where the boys ride their 4 wheelers and everyone backed their trucks up into a semi-circle around a bon fire so the kids could sit in the back and look at the display. 

When I was done, I had an idea! 

Hmmm, not good. My ideas tend to get me in a little trouble some times, but this was a really good one. I went and got my bow and an arrow from the shed, unscrewed the tip off the arrow, taped a giant bottle rocket to it and pulled it back ready to launch. I had a friend light the fuse and I aimed it straight up at the stars and waited until the fuse burned down to just the right moment (timing is the key.)  With one smooth release I sent this thing sailing straight up in the air and waited for the rocket to take off.  And I waited and waited.  It should be taking off at any time now.  Just a few more seconds and the magic will begin!

Then the strangest thing happened.

The arrow stopped, turned around and started to fall back down. I mean really, what are the odds it will come back our way?  The fact that it was falling back down in our direction was bad enough, but then all heck breaks loose. The fuse finally burned down and the rocket took off leaving a vapor trail behind it. People are running, diving and ducking for cover as this camouflaged ssile heads straight for the back of my truck! 

Well, the rocket lands in my truck and the fireworks begin. Did I mention that I had more fireworks in the back of my truck? By now the smoke is so thick I can’t tell if anyone is still in it so I jumped in the back of the truck to save anyone who’s there. The fireworks started popping all around my feet and I’m dancing around like an armadillo getting beat with a broom.

Thank the good Lord no one was in the truck!

As the smoke cleared I see this figured emerge with its arms crossed, eyes glowing red and a foot patting a beat that sounds all too familiar. So I yell at this mysterious figure “BACK TO HELL DEMON!”

Oh, my bad, it’s just my wife. She says “Are you ok, Honey?”

Thinking she was worried about me I said, “Yes I’m fine.” Then she says “Wayne, you’re a moron.”  Then she slowly turned and walked away.  Happy Dang New Year!

ON YOUR MARK…GET SET…GO!

Do you believe there’s a lot of good stuff happening out there every single day?  Do you believe in the American Dream? Do you believe all things are possible?  Do you think we’d all be better off if we heard a lot more of the good stuff?  If yes, then get ready because “The Good Stuff” is on its way!  

I’m on an adventure to shine a light on the good in life!  This venture is titled “The Good Stuff.”  You’ll notice I didn’t say I named this venture, and that’s because I give credit where credit is due.  Out of the mouth of babes comes much wisdom;  and  in this case, the wisdom comes from my 9-year-old son.  I was sitting around with my husband discussing names for this endeavor for the umpteenth time when my oldest son entered the room and wanted to know what we were talking about.  I told him we were brainstorming names for my new company which was going to give a voice to all the good things in life, etc … etc … etc ….  He immediately says, “Mom, you should call it ‘The Good Stuff’!” 

The name stuck.  You can imagine how proud and happy I was to have my son contribute to my vision for shining a light on the positive!  I thought to myself, “This ‘following your dreams’ stuff is really great!”  Life was good and I was on cloud nine.

This warm and fuzzy feeling lasted until the next morning when my 9-year-old asked me how much I was going to pay him for coming up with the name of my fledgling company.  He was not kidding! In his mind, he was clearly due some compensation. The only question in his mind was the amount — not whether or not I should pay him.  I’m not worried about his entrepreneurial spirit, but I do think I need to revisit the bedtime stories about loving and serving your neighbor!

At this point, you’ve learned I have at least one son; but you may be wondering, “who is this person so passionately talking about ‘the good stuff’?”  Well, it appears I have two wise sons because my 8-year-old son likes to say, “Girls are very complicated.”  Keeping suit, I’m going to give you a very complicated answer.  I am: the housewife of a very good man, a mother to three wonderful boys, a daughter and daughter-in-law, a sister and sister-in-law, a friend, a neighbor, an engineering school grad, a big fan of coffee, a believer in giving back, a lawyer, an average yoga student, and a person with a dream to shine a light on all the good stuff that happens every single day!  I guess you can say I have a dream to make a difference, because I believe sharing the good stuff has the power to touch lives around the world!

What kinds of “good stuff” are we going to talk about?  Well … that’s simply the best part of this new venture!  When you look around, “the good stuff” is everywhere.  The material is endless! We’re going to talk about all the good things you see as you live, give, grow and interact with the world around you.  I say “we” because “The Good Stuff” is about you!  It’s about your story!  It’s about all the good you see every day as you live your life.

“Live.” “Give.” “Grow.” These descriptors may seem a little broad, but they are where we find “the good stuff.”  They are the zest and marrow of life!  As we live, we find good stuff in food, fashion, the arts, gardening, sports, design, nature, outdoor living, health, R&R, and wellness.  As we give and see others giving, we renew our convictions that people want to give to something greater than themselves.  As we give and learn of neighbors doing the same, we renew the hope that anchors the soul and urges us on to do great things.  As we grow, we stretch ourselves to learn new things, take a new class, keep things fresh and flowing.  As we grow, we begin to leave this place better than when we found it.  As we grow, we make our mark and leave a shining legacy.

Finding the good in life is spacious and open, but I can assure you that we’ll get very specific on “The Good Stuff.”  On “The Good Stuff,” we’ll talk about all the ooey, gooey, sticky details.  Nothing is off the table!  We’ll talk about everything … maybe even the things you’re not supposed to talk about.  For instance, we’ll talk about: Greenways and the environment; the secret to a delicious donut; the miracle of adoption; the power of a designer shoe; sex, or the abstinence thereof; the magic of historical lighting; the moxie of the start-up down the street; the vigor of a company 5000 employees strong; the value of established charities; or the beauty of a neighbor that’s gone out of his way to help his fellow man — just to name a few. 

We’ll talk about the light and airy and merry, but we’ll also address the hard stuff that’s not so easy to talk about.  As a dear friend of mine says, “Life gets sticky … and when it gets sticky, it gets good.”   So when you see the sticky stuff, don’t think we’re off-point or off-mission — just remember the sticky stuff can lead you to “the good stuff.”  We’ll talk about struggles in the inner city, but we’ll also share the hope and future for the inner city.  We’ll talk about the ups and downs of organ donation and organ transplant.  We’ll talk about poverty and hear from those who are working to make a real difference.  We’ll talk about things like: the oil spill; the merits of pre-paid electricity;  marriage — the good, the bad, and the ugly;  the loss of a loved one; raising kids; and loving teenagers.  A lot of this stuff is hard, but the hard stuff can lead to “the good stuff” if you stick with it long enough.   

On Your Mark … Get Set … Go! We’re off and ready to give a voice to “The Good Stuff.”  Light and airy, easy or hard — together, we’ll talk about it all. 

Help me “shine a light” on the good things you see every day!  Share “your story” at COCO@COCOMCCAIN.COM.     I hope to hear from you soon — but between now and then may you LIVE…GIVE…and…GROW with all the good in life! 

*************

 Copyright © 2010 The Good Stuff LLC

All rights reserved.

Having unmistakably arrived at middle-age (if not beyond), it seems to me it’s time to reorder my priorities in life. The dreams of a twenty-something year-old woman are not the same as a fifty-something woman, at least I realize they shouldn’t be. I’d like to start the process of rethinking my goals but it seems like a daunting undertaking. Any advice?

Signed,

                                                                 Thinking About Rethinking

Dear Rethinking,

Here’s my rule of thumb:  every quarter century or so, without fail, you should change your hair style, rethink your makeup, update your wardrobe and, as part of this makeover, identify a new role model for yourself. I admit that adult women should be sufficiently comfortable with themselves to have matured beyond the need for a guru. But in every phase of our lives we’re covering new ground (at least new to us), so it’s helpful to focus on somebody whose attitude, philosophy and lifestyle can serve to point us in the right direction.

In search of my own role model, I looked at lists of the most influential women of our day and concluded that the logical one for me was Ruth Bader Ginsburg, the second female Justice of the Supreme Court and its first Jewish Justice. Prior to becoming a Supreme, Ginsburg was a federal appellate court judge, a law school professor and devoted herself to issues of gender equality, among many other notable endeavors. Through all of this she struggled with the challenges of motherhood and a legal career while battling two kinds of cancer. Perfect choice, right? Well, not quite.  For one thing, this woman is so extraordinary that merely contemplating her heroic achievements convinces me that my own legal career, indeed my entire life, has been an exercise in mediocrity.

But there’s a more important point, I realized. Justice Ginsburg and other women of her caliber are ideal examples for aspiring young women who are seeking someone to look up to as they climb the ladder to success. But given my own career trajectory, there’s no point in having someone to look up to; what is needed, rather, is someone to lead me through the treacherous twists and turns down, down, down.

Besides, if every time I was faced with a particular moral or ethical dilemma I had to ask myself, “What would Ruth Bader Ginsburg do?” the answer, I’m afraid, would invariably be:  “Take the high road.” But at this point in my life I might sometimes want to take a few side streets, maybe even a back alley. And I wouldn’t want to disappoint (even in my imagination) a member of the Supreme Court just because I occasionally chose to express my inner snarkiness. My objective is to get better at accepting who I am, not feel guilty about who I will never be.

So I further refined my criteria: my role model’s life and standards should not be so exemplary that I feel like a miserable failure by comparison. In fact, it would help if she were a tad morally suspect herself.

At this point I stumbled across a young woman known as “Snooki”, who rose to fame as a member of the cast of the reality TV show Jersey Shore. Though I was not familiar with the show, I found I was able to take the measure of this unusual young lady based on various of her quotes published on the internet. I decided Snooki was a female very comfortable in her own skin and someone I could relate to better than a Supreme Court Justice because her tastes and moral and ethical standards seem to be far more…  accessible.  I will share with you my thoughts about Snooki as I read the following snippets of dialog excerpted from various episodes of the show:

“I’m not [mad] that they put pickles under my bed as a joke, but I’m [mad] that Mike and Pauly wasted two pickles.” (She shares my concern about waste of our natural resources.)

 “A crow comes and it starts quacking at us… or not quacking, what does a crow do?” (She has an inquiring mind.)

“Vinny’s like my big brother, I love him… but usually you don’t have sex with your big brother.” (She has strong moral scruples.)

“One [fireman] is tall, tanned.. & he looked Italian, so I woulda’ smushed that, yes!” (We share similar taste in men.)

“Snooki: I’m not white. [other female cast member]: What are you? Snooki: Tan.” (She is comfortable with her racial/ethnic background.)

“Word of the day: sympathetic. That’s a big word.” (She is always seeking to improve her mind.)

“I don’t go tanning anymore because Obama put a 10% tax on tanning. I feel like he did that intentionally for us, like McCain would never put a 10% tax on tanning…because he is pale and he would probably wanna be tanned.” (She is politically astute.)

Well, Rethinking, everyone has to make their own choice but for me the search is over – I’m having my bracelet made up: “What Would Snooki Do?” And I’m pretty sure that whatever may be the answer to that question, it won’t be: “Take the high road.”  So think about it – maybe Snooki is the girl for you too.

Signed,

GAB

Alisa Singer’s humorous essays have appeared in a variety of print and online newspapers and magazines across the country and in Canada. She is the author of various gift books designed to entertain and amuse baby boomers. Her newest book, When a Girl Goes From Bobby Sox to Compression Stockings…she gets a little cranky, is available at www.Lulu.com. You can learn more about her work by visiting her website: www.AlisaSinger.com or contacting her at ASingerAuthor@gmail.com.

A couple of years ago a friend and I, let’s call him Jory Babin, decided to do some last minute shopping on Christmas Eve. We always look for an excuse to ride our Harleys so off we go to the mall in Slidell, LA.

As we parked our bikes and headed inside we get a few glances from other shoppers because anytime we ride we dress the part- always wearing leather, concert T-shirts and bandannas. As soon as we entered the first store, as luck would have it, we find a lost little girl about 4 years old who had gotten separated from her mother and the poor thing is crying. We tried to approach her and when she gets one look at us she goes to screaming. (I can’t really blame her cause we look like we just got released from Angola prison.)

As we try to calm her down and get her name so we can report it to security here comes the mother around the corner and sees us kneeled down by her baby.  Thank goodness cause this little girl is about to flip out!

Well like daughter like mother, this lady goes to yelling, “My baby, get away from my baby.  They’re taking my baby!” 

Here we go.

As I try to explain what was happening this lady starts slapping and hitting us in the head. I turn around to look at Jory and all I see is his bandanna lying on the floor and the back of his head heading out the door so I follow his lead and make a run for it. When I get to the parking lot Jory jumps on his bike like Roy Rogers jumping on Trigger. Then here comes security…this don’t look good. I go to jump on my bike like Jory did but I have a sissy bar.  Daaang that hurt, I’m gonna have to ice that down. Well…Merry Christmas to me. I’m just sayin’!