drank so much of it after 4pm. But hey, was worth it. After all, she didn't get much company; her only social outlet was church, and sunday nights were off the table, until around early april, when atleast some daylight lasted until 7pm. Why they had to go and get rid of spring forward back in '23...ugh! While the old woman was not quite fit for driving...what was she supposed to do? Kiss hiney for rides?? Uhm, no, no and NO!!!!
"Must be sorta a shock." Meg reached for an orange walnut cookie, from a small plate of which her hostess had set out. Upon it, were about six; each had plenty of walnuts, but Meg somehow knew Irene made these to keep around for company - whenever that happened. Alot of things must be a shock, to old people - women, especially, Meg was certainly old enough to remember a time when about half the senators were women - and now, what was it? Ten percent? if even that.
Per a prior conversion, between the sunday school and worship, Irene had made a qwip to the effect, Dorothy, you're not in '05 anymore. Back then, MRA was beneath notice - well, to anyone, with atleast some socio-political influence; men's rights activists were - and properly so, at the time -dismissed as either basement boys, or cads, or baby-dadDUHs - who had money for drugs and games, but not for their kids' shoes. But even Meg - still struggling to get her ged...the math part was super HARD, but so was the histo-graphy - anyway, even she knew enough, that these MRA guys had found their feet...and had, not only entered top meetings, but, more than a few held the podium.
"Yes, and no," Irene continued, after taking a bite of her cookie. "A bit over ten years ago, I began noticing clouds on the horizon, turning dark." She slowly arose from the table - so as not to wrench a muscle...old age, "WHACK!" She then stifled a bad word; the stink bug - natural or manufactured - flew off...with a neh, neh, neh? "Hate them ... ppfff things."
"Tell me about it!" Though Meg didn't detail as to precisely why. But between you and I, Dear Reader, those dern bugs were putting a dent into the private life of the, still blushing, young bride and her older Husband. Like they were the only couple...? Just when she was getting okay with giving him some spice, outside of their bedroom and from beneath bed covers...lo and behold, wouldn't one of those things fly amongst the cupboards, land atop the hutch, or whiz by a table, or near the sofa. Meg's Hisband, Doyle telling her, they're here, and that's just how things are...yeah, but, getting used to it??? Getting used to, potentially, NO PRIVACY??? That kerri lady, wasn't the first to host various thumbnails; but man o man, she was skating...NewsGuy had a similar site, but it was no longer accessible. Word was: neither was he.
"Anyway," Irene continued, and I can't quite explain, but when ... what was his name? ... oh, Donalds, when he signed that order...wachamacallit... the one that exempts girls from getting drafted, I could not, and cannot, cease to suspect...a rider, somewhere in those 300-some pages - one that hasn't yet, officially, made an appearance, but will soon."
"They're THAT long?"
"If not longer. Think it was the healthcare under President Clinton ... or was it Obama?... well, whatever, was something like a few thousand pages."
"Bu, but, wouldn't it take atleast a MONTH to read all that?"
Irene let out a cackle, then apologized. "That's the thing, likely skimmed, at best." Being not entirely sure if she'd heard right, a recent podcast, but if she did hear the phrase "militarily attached" or something along that line, it could very well mean the overturn of a certain amendment - one that passed around 1919, or was in '20.
Frustrating...not being able to remember things, and half afraid to bring up upon the search engine. Nor had she much confidence in so-called security software - neither had she the funds - stuff kept going up. Supply and demand...just a bubble-bathed and perfumed pig-capitalism.
No comments:
Post a Comment