Women Over 50—I’m Too Old For Fangs
For those of you my age, you’ll remember with fondness the name of Phyllis Diller’s husband. It’s lost in my memory bank (too many withdrawals by now) as to the reasons for such a moniker, but I love the name. So, you know I’m not writing about him.
No, I mean real fangs—well, not exactly “real.” But, I came upon a pair yesterday and they were doozies!
My husband and I had the unfortunate experience of getting a flat tire on the freeway. A piece of some type of metal garbage flew off a truck landing right in front of us. My husband didn’t have a chance to avoid it and, a few seconds later, we heard a loud “bang” and the car lurched to the right. Actually, we were very lucky because we were driving in the far right lane. So, we pulled off onto the shoulder of the road and immediately called for service.
About a half hour later, the tow truck appeared and out popped a burly looking young man. He appeared to know what he was doing and was polite and friendly. It was when he was pulling off the hubcap that I noticed it. He had a huge four or five inch tattoo of a skull on his inner forearm. Adding to the startling effect of this particular piece of artwork, rather than teeth—the skull boasted fangs.
Okay, call me judgmental and old, but my mind started reeling. Was there a serial killer, with a tire iron in his hand, kneeling right next to me? Was he some fugitive from justice who had forged documents so that he could get a legitimate job and blend in with the rest of society? Were my husband and I in mortal danger?
Thankfully, the answers to all these questions are probably “no,” but it does give one pause. Why in all of creation do the young folk of today plaster their bodies with these huge and disturbing designs? They certainly make going barefoot and growing out your underarm hair pale by comparison!