As I sat through four parades today, watching what seemed like the endless procession of scantily clad, fully grown women headed down St. Charles Avenue, I thought to myself, where are these women’s daughters?
Where are the mortified girls asking these women if they plan to leave the house “looking like that,” and if they do, then they’d better get back inside and re-think their outfits? Why wasn’t anyone at the costume shop making sure their outfits were parade appropriate? Sequins in the daytime? Tutus? Knee-high boots? They’ve got some nerve.
What are pre-teen and teenaged daughters good for if they aren’t there to tell their moms and intoxicated aunts they’re embarrassing them? Teenaging has really gone down the drain if this is the path we’re headed toward as a society.
Who told them that they could shake what their mamas gave them in public? Mama, I don’t know what granny gave you, but I’m pretty sure she’s rolling in her grave, and not to the bounce remix of Adele’s “Rolling In the Deep.”
Someone must be passing out copies of The Feminist Manifesto in the Starbucks drive thru during peak carpool hours. There’s no other explanation as to how these delusions of grandeur have entered the minds of so many local women.
Confidence levels are getting out of control. Ladies (if we can even call them that) of all shapes and sizes are exposing things like wrists, ankles, and even knees. Purple lipstick? Glitter eye shadow? This is not Bourbon Street. Don’t you know The Avenue is a family atmosphere?
This must be stopped. Middle and high school girls, I beg you to talk sense into your mothers (Grandmothers too – have you seen those Ameila Earhawts?) and convince them that this nonsense is a scourge on women everywhere, especially a conservative place like New Orleans.
Someone needs to get these women in line, and I don’t mean in a Second Line. Young ladies, it’s up to you. Don’t let these women embarrass you any longer. Know what they’re wearing and where they’re going. The city is counting on you.
This post brought to you by satire, sarcasm, and pride in the city that appreciates creativity, diversty, confidence, and talent. March on, ladies. March. On.