At the check out of my local grocery store last week, I noticed the latest TV Guide cover, featuring Desperate Housewives. More accurately, I noticed Dana Delaney's boobs and ass staring me in the face. A rush of indignance coursing through my veins, I grabbed the offending magazine and held it up.
"Isn't this a little ... much?" I asked the cashier and the bagger. Both female and past retirement age, I knew they'd concur.
"Huh?" said the cashier.
"Oh, I don't even notice those things," said the bagger.
"I mean, her chest is hanging out! I can see her butt!"
I flicked it with my finger for effect. "Are we so desensitized to smutt that we ..."
Blank stares.
"I didn't even notice it," said the cashier.
"Well, I'm sure my 8-year-old son would have, had he been here." I crammed the issue back in the rack, cover photo facing in. "On the magazine rack is one thing, but staring me in the face at the register? Geesh."
Then I grabbed my bags, said, "Have a good day," and took my oversized ass right out of that place.
Happy 39th birthday to me.
