"Allah Loves You" ?? Well, that's a new one! Never heard that ploy before. While no expert, did look into Islam some years back, and the religion seemed to focus

upon fear and submission.  But "Love"?  Nope, didn't see that, in anything i had read about Islam.  Sure, in the Koran copy (which was borrowed) did read, in several places, about looking after orphans, and giving to the poor.  Well guess what!  People who are outright atheists - and vocal about how the Bible is just a buncha desert tales, and the people who believe the Word, are a buncha  uneducated underachievers... bla, bla ;/  Even Bible-bashers have atleast some light in them to realize, there are other people on this planet, besides their enlightened smart selves; and have enough gratitude to the 3.5 billion year old pond soup that gave them life and ability, to ... well, share some of their resources.  Or did that concept come from their aunt meggie or uncle bob (who, by the way, believed the Scriptures, from cover to cover).  

Anyway, Islam, like all other religions, except the Real one (faith in Jesus Christ) teach that in order to get on the good side of god/eternity, one must do this/that works - feed the poor (and hire a drummer to make big noise), burn (at the stake) folks who question infant baptism and shelling out lots of dough to get their sins forgiven ... HOORAY!!! for the Reformation - and the men and women, who died horribly, so we could have Bibles, written in languages that people actually speak.  Yeah, getting all over the map here :)

Hhmm, come to think of it, don't recall anywhere, where Jesus and his disciples bullied or killed anybody for questioning, or choosing to not believe.  But have read, in the Scriptures, where Jesus simply, politely ignored the scoffing pharisees, and went about his Father's business; and where the Lord Jesus's disciples simply left towns which weren't interested in the Gospel.  No drama, just some dust kicked off sandals.

"Allah Loves You?"  What's up with that?  Could it be - atleast in the west, where people still have freedom to accept, or reject, whatever religion/s - that numbers are down?  That women are waking up?  That women are communicating with one another, instead of wanting to one-up (i.e., LIE at) each other.

These red-pills say the most asinine things! The latest being,

from a certain fornicator - needful to say, that trashes his credibility, right there.  But hey, even smart people (he wrote a book about high iq people) can be dense.  Here's the title of short-shifty's recent video, "wouldn't want to bang [a certain attractive early 30s us representative]."  Yeah...and i'll bet, at this very minute, she's sitting in her lovely office  suite, just crying her eyes out. - post came out yesterday...or was it the day before :/  And yeah, i get it: history repeating itself, a once really together nation, now under the Lord's judgment.   Uh, wouldn't have anything to do with shoddy leadership, over the last several decades...would it?  

Anyway, wonder what his live-in girlfriend thinks!  Then again, maybe she finally grew some braincells... and walked.  Per a previous post, he charges her rent.  Uhm, isn't the free services - maid, cook ... and ... eechh... other stuff she provides...isn't she being tapped enough???  Oh, but it's never enough, for red-pills...evidently.  

Of course, how his girlfriend manages her life is her business.  Just saying, i hope she realizes, he is dead set against marriage - which only means that time - and gravity - will, eventually, yield its outcome.  Yep, give it a decade (if even that) and guess who will be out...with nothing to show, but years of rent payments.  Meanwhile, he crows on about his paid-for house, and stock portfolio. 

Speaking of marriage being a risk to men...a thought occurred the other day.  Hasn't marriage always been a high risk to women?  Who doesn't know of atleast ONE elderly widow, whose husband just plain didn't trouble himself to make atleast some provision for his wife?  Ya know, the woman who sacrificed a decent paying job to stay home and raise their children - get old looking before her time.  How comes that very REAL risk doesn't get much talked about?

Isaiah 3:12 "As for my people, children are their oppressors, and women rule over them.  O my people, they which lead thee cause thee to err, and destroy the way of thy paths."  

Punk solves one of his two problems. It was around lunchtime, and since punk hadn't had any breakfast,

he was doubly hangry. Yeah, what th' was she good for?  He muttered, there wasn't even enough in her wallet for a cheese muffin.  Looking for a job, of course, didn't register.  Dude had expected him to be there at sunrise, and the joker before expected the too many deliveries to be...knocking at someone's kitchen door? Uh-uh, punk shook his head, muttered an oath...something about moloch's tits.  

What punk needed to find, was a sugar daddy, but first, he needed to find some lunch.  As he approached a park - one of Lot's ideas, punk rolled his eyes, but then, eureka!  Adding two and two, it occurred to him, why the park was populated with single moms, and their kids; with wally world closed, the women were out of work.  Bits of a conversation confirmed that reality; a mom, with three children in tow, was saying something to another mom about applying for WIC - one of Lot's projects - if something didn't turn up soon.  Hmmph, what would turn up, punk cussed again - something about astart's pecker - would be more single moms on the dole, and having more kids.

"Sweetie," a plump 30ish woman approached the jungle gym, where her fiveish son was about to grab the lowest rung, and begin his climb.  "You can play mountain king, after we eat."  

"But I wanna..." the boy began to pout, as he watched his friend timmy ascend the bars.

"You wanna grow up big and strong?  Right?"  The woman gently reminded.  The boy nodded, his arms began flailing as he and began telling his mom how BatMan caught the jewelry thief.

It was that second, when punk noticed a MickyD bag sitting on a nearby picnic table.  Smelled good.  Now was his chance, since the woman had her back turned.  Just when he was but a yard from it, she turned around.  Punk took a step in another direction.  Uh-uh, he wasn't going to mess with switchblade shirl - that beech was crazy!

A few moments later, bag in hand, punk rounded a corner building, and peeked inside the bag.  His  countenance fell.  Freaking chicken nuggets, and a stupid salad.  He pitched the salad, the bowl landing upside down, leaving a lettuicy trail, and began gnawing on the eight or ten mostly breaded nuggets.  There was something else in the bag, a small container of what looked like apple sauce.  Punk ripped that open, and in one gulp, swallowed the kiddo-portioned contents.  Several yards behind him, a mid-20s blond quietly sobbed - she and her little girl would have no lunch today.  As for supper, well, that wasn't looking too promising either.

"And delivered just Lot, vexed with the filthy conversation of the wicked : (For that righteous man dwelling among them, in seeing and hearing, vexed his righteous soul from day to day with their unlawful deeds ;)"  II Peter 3:7-8

A few days before the firestorm hit the cities, PunkArse was walking Sodom's streets. He had a problem.

Lately...well actually, for the past year or two, he had yet another reason to be more than his usual surly self.  The wall was coming for him.  He knew that - unlike other dudes his age, and older.  For sure, he wasn't looking forward to his 19th birthday.  Yikes, soon he'd be EarlMC's age...and speaking of the he-hag, Punk spat out a laugh.  EarlMC was so deluded, he thought he still had it, was still the bell of baal's ball.  And such a liar, Earl would be telling everybody his hair and nails were done over at...Upscale's?  Punk wasn't sure, might be the other pseudo-high-end place.  But one thing for sure, two rather shabby buildings from him, Earl emerged - first looking left, then looking right - from none other than Kresgeez Hair and Nail.  On the way out, a scurrying middle aged woman had inadvertently - though, only momentarily - blocked Earl from an embarrassing encounter.  

The aging, rather poorly dressed woman didn't want to be late for her appointment.  Dear Reader, you might want to know why women, who can barely make the rent and put food on the table, can somehow afford to get their nails done - after all, for a fraction of the cost of just one appointment, decent nail polish (not the crappy cheap stuff) is sold in about any drug store.  Well it goes like this:  when you're poor, having nice nails is about your only luxury; and when you're scrambling between two crappy jobs, and living in a dingy, cramped apartment, there's neither time, nor space, to just sit, and allow two coats of polish to dry.  One coat doesn't get it - actually three coats is better.  

Okay, back to the story.

While Earl never did anything to Punk - in fact barely knew him.  Didn't matter to Punk.   Punk was the sort of person - like so many - who got his cookies off, kicking someone, anyone, who was down on their luck.  And yeah, Earl was post wall - once hot, his 25-some years...proclaimed, eh, not.  Just when Punk was going to let loose a mean cutting statement - boy, he prided himself on those; had a talent for making people feel like ... crap.  Anyway, he collided into some old guy.   Both were knocked to the mirey street. 

Punk was livid.  The purple keds, the ones he had just 5-fingered from wally world, just two days ago, were ruined - spattered with donkey poo.  Punk hauled off and punched the old guy right in his jaw.

"Sh*t!"  Punk exclaimed, adding a few more obscenities.  Right before him, the sign read, in big, bold, black letters, "CLOSED!"   Well, so much for visiting their friendly neighborhood wally world.  Punk looked down at his feet; the left leg of his trousers weren't looking smart either - that donkey must have been fed something nasty.  

This wasn't good.  Sure, the urchin look was passable at 14 or 15, but definitely not at 17 or 18.  Though he not quite wall, still was definitely close enough to see the mortar.  He wanted a lite beer and a burger, but he had only enough money for one or the other.  He wanted both.  He made up his mind to do two things.  Number one: he'd find where that beech was hiding her money (his mom had long since only breadcrumbed her wallet). Hoe thinks she's wise, eh, Punk grumbled, clenching his fists.  As for number two, he walked past a certain bar - changing his mind about smoozing for a drink, in that place; dudes in there were old, and fat - and the word was, more than one of them were into "threesomes" - two men and a dog or a pig.  Eh, no thanks.

As for Cold Springs, a joint nearby?   Punk shook his head.  That place was a twangie nuisance; the men in there were known to buy drinks for, eh, women.  That's just sick! Hmmph, bet Lot, that uppty council-dude - who's not even from around here - had something to do with that place being allowed to stay open.  By baal's pecker, what's this world coming to, anyway?  Punk muttered, shambling along.

Was it a comet, about the size of a 14 room farmhouse, that broke up in the atmosphere, that was scheduled to rain down upon

the cities?  The residents were oblivious; they were sleeping off last night's party; it had started to break up around threeish or fourish - about the usual time.  Vomit and litter everywhere, and more than one fatality; some, from overdose, others from getting caught in a gang crossfire, and ... you can guess why that five year old, laying over there in the corner, won't become a six year old.

Along one of the meaner - than typical mean - streets, a single mom is awakened by her alarm clock.  Well, atleast it went off this time - a few days ago it didn't, and she was late for work, and was given her last warning.  She made a mental note, to somehow scrape up a few bucks, (if not filtched out of her purse, by none other than :( run over to  WallMart ... oh wait, they closed ... one time too many... a looted mess.  Last time she was there, to buy milk and cereal for her kids, some of the frig doors were left hanging  open - one that kept the fruit juice, the door was hanging by a single bent hinge.  Wtf is wrong with people? she shook her head.  

She heard the all too familiar mutterings and cursings of her teenaged son shambling into the stinking wreck of his bedroom.  Yep, among many of his snarling complaints - some of which, for sanity's, if not physical  health's, sake, she chose to ignore.  Punk-arse really needed to find other living arrangements - and since daDuh was such a hero (while she, of course, such a ... high body-count) why punk wouldn't simply pack his hefty bag, and crash there ...  Wasn't happening, of course, the seedY-bag hadn't troubled itself to so much as sent him a dollar-store card, for the last few baal's b-days, let alone take him to a nas-char(iot) race.  So yeah, her son is angry.  But she knows the old story; old as baal himself, it's always mom's fault, never dad's.  (Needless to say, seedbags be seedbags - old as baal.)

In short, the eggshells laying on the floor, weren't just left over, nonswept - from lack of time, scrambling between two crappy-jobs and general despair.  At times, more like disgust.  While she could have easily passed the both of them to moloch, something about that - that, which she couldn't quite articulate - was creepy, not natural .... wrong.  

Down the street, a hung-over merchant, while setting up shop, just happened to notice four people being led out the city gate.  One of the two men leading the four...oh yeah, he was a looker; the merchant had wanted some of that, but got there too late.  Good thing, he concluded, as several blind men bumped and bungled their way along.  One the them tripped on ... oh, a mostly empty whiskey bottle, and fell on his face.  Blood and boogers everywhere, the merchant let out a throaty laugh.

The single mom drew shut her tawdry curtains.  They needed washed; didn't help that punk-arse had wiped his grimy paws upon them more than once.  Maybe when she got off work, but concluded, there was no point in even thinking of having anything halfways nice, as long as his worthless arse was snarling around.   Ya know, the same-old xy entitlement thing :/   

She sniffed, wrinkling her nose at a certain highly unpleasant smell, coming from a certain direction.  Between punk's snores - as if his breath didn't routinely STINK enough, it must have crapped itself - either too drunk to notice, or just too lazy to get up and trouble himself to walk a short ways down the hall, to the latrine.

Something snapped within her.  She was done!  Calmly, she gathered a few things, stepped back into her small bedroom, gathered up her fourish daughter, and left the squalid apartment.  Where to go?  Anywhere, but here.  Zoar, perhaps.  Surely she could find a place, a job, there; she pondered her possibilities, as she headed toward Sodom's gate - with daughter in her arms, a satchel on her back.  She kissed her not quite awake daughter upon her forehead.  

The sun was just over the horizon.  Mother and daughter were...oh, a mile, maybe two, outside the gate.  Sadly, not far enough.  Within a brief second, she heard a booming noise coming from the city, but before she could turn around to see what the matter was, a war machine?  There had been talk.  But it didn't matter;  a comet chunk, about the size of a cell-phone...

"The sun was risen upon the earth when Lot entered into Zoar.  Then the LORD rained upon Sodom and upon Gomorrah brimstone and fire from the LORD out of heaven;"   Genesis 19:23-24

"And thou Capernaum, which art exalted unto heaven, shalt be brought down to hell : for if the mighty works, which have been done in thee, had been done in Sodom, it would have remained until this day."  Matthew 12:23

It would be so easy to ditch church, and get things done. But i won't,

because that's a real easy habit to get into.  Even heard a for-real preacher about say the same - he's a gedder-done sort of person; he works a job during the week.  Bet his day-book is full, because he also writes his own sermons - and studies the Word.  And he's no longer 35 - yikes, those mid-west winters are brutal.  YEP, there's actually a few preachers out there who do ALOT more than just take tithes.  For sure, Praise the Lord :)

Anyway, all geared up to take the backroom curtains down, and take them to the laundry mat; that will have to wait.  Maybe this afternoon, if i feel inclined.  Sunday, being a day of rest...yeah, tough one for gedder-done people.  While we're no longer in the Old Testament, still, there's principles involved.  Best i can do, at this time is: not to do menial stuff on Sunday; if am going to do work, then will do something that is interesting/relaxing. 

Yeah, will likely take down the curtains later in the week; after all, my car parked outside the laundry mat - uhm, not exactly a good testimony.  Think i'll, instead, sew today, or do something else that's interesting/therapeutic. 

Ugh, could only listen to that drivell for so long. A red-pill podcast. Throughout, most the hout, could only conclude,

well, how do the shoes fit.  These guys were basically crying the blues about shamed-if-ya-do, and-shamed-if-ya-don't.  Welcome to 6,000 years of women's lives.  Ya know, if your husband messes around, your fault for sprouting gray hair/gaining ten pounds over the last fifteen years.  Or, if you don't have a husband - anyone ever, as children, play a card game, called "Old Maids?"  Granted, if over these several thousand years, women hadn't been mind-gamed into getting OWNED (married)...there'd be no gloomer-doomers wringing their hands concerning below-replacement birth stats; we'd of gone extinct ages ago.

Red-pills detest the double standards placed upon men.  Namely, the WORK double standard.  So many of 'em, bristle bigtime over that one; it's almost(?) as if they're just mad, because they're not women - who can stay home if the weather gets nasty.  Women aren't expected to shimmy up the ladder, in amid wind and sleet, and fix the power line.  Another double standard for men is, if junior was suspended from school, it's basically dad's fault, for not keeping his son from getting in with the wrong crowd - oh, but all along, dad was pulling 50-60 hour shifts.  Doesn't matter, the bag was found in the kid's locker.

Such hypocrites.  They endlessly whine about family court / domestic relations.  But we all know, if those Protections were taken off the table, this coming Monday morning, by October 1st, the food pantries and homeless shelters would be overfilled with castoff wives, girlfriends and their children.  Think the youth delinquency / gang problem is bad enough now??  Just think if family law went red-pill...no, don't...just go rent a MadMax movie, or similar genre.

Mr. Kirkpatrick died back in '63, or was it '64. All's i know, it was about this time of year,

and Gramma saying something about a card.  Mr. and Mrs. K. were neighbors.  Like most the other homes, the couple lived in a modest ranch; like virtually all the homes, everything appeared neat and everso. While not a guarantee that things were okay behind the windows and doors, when people keep up their property, that's a good sign, that sloth - and sloth's smelly toadies, are neither welcome within the home, nor in the yard.

Anyway, Widow K., continued to live quietly in the home, which her husband had Provided, for the next 20-some years.  Yeah, this was back in the days when most women were housewives.  Maybe, here and there, she had worked part-time, but then again, maybe not.  Shorty after the Lady (oh, i love using politically incorrect terms :) passed, i heard Gramma say that Widow K's window wells were nice and clean.  Ya know how it is, come spring, they're...ugh, a bit dirty from all the bits of road salt, dust and debris from winter - when you don't care to open them.

Anyway, thought about Mrs. K. while cleaning mine.  Took two hours, and i didn't do the three front ones yet.  Taking a break.  Would have taken quite longer to have done the some fifteen windows had i not washed and wiped them down some two weeks ago - that had taken an hour or so.

Heard it said - and, for the most part, believe this - if your window wells are clean, your house is clean.   Also believe this too:  most women want to have a clean orderly home.  Such takes time.  No big deal for me, since there's no drama here - i.e., live alone :)  But most younger women (atleast, normal women) don't want to live alone - Bible even emphasizes that women are to marry, have babies, and guide the home.  Being widowed, and over 60, i get a pass on having to kiss eeckky frogs, in search of a prince.

Anyway, have to go run the typical saturday errands.  More later. Bye.

But comeon already, kids aren't covid. To go around spouting "child free," comes off as ... well,

rude toward little humans.  Per the last post, this one is a continuation, because...well, free speech is becoming past-tense.  Nuf said there.  Months ago, could have been a year, i made a comment that wanting to remain child-free is unnatural.   And i stand by that.  At the risk of offending anyone...oh well, the Bible is quite clear that wives are to raise children.  Perhaps, there's a reason; could be that reason is: childfree is a symptom of a gaping hole, in the heart.

First of all, and THAT often happens, when little girls witness their daDuhs treating their moms like pack mules - ya know, blame and shame, see last post...that is, if the pronoun'd thought-gestapo didn't jerk it off.   So yeah, i empathize, but relegating kids to covid status??? Nuh-uh!

And wow, per the thread, that hole can get bad infected.  The nasty responses - more like projections - keep a coming.   The mere  mention of "Bible," woah nelly, gnashing of razor yella teeth.  

And yeah, i understand why more and more are choosing to remain childless

We all know the drill:  mom, married or single, ends up more like a work-mule.  And then is shamed for losing her youth/beauty - doesn't help, of course, being told, over and over again, to serve, serve, serve...and to expect to keep, even a modest portion of the money she earns, at her full-time job, for herself...oh no, that's selfish.  So, what ends up happening is: she ends up old before her time, and - oh horrors, overweight, and generally, ragged looking.  Needless to say, her husband starts looking elsewhere - but still expects hummers (ya know, totally one-sided s3x...and worse yet, not Biblical).  Bjs are what the dudes of sodom did to each other - among other eckky things. Eighty percent of divorces initiated by wives??  Not hard (yeah, that's a booze and drug issue) to figure.

Oh, one of the snooty marrieds was going on ... typical :/ about how her grandmother worked all day, and did all the housework.

What she had conveniently left out ... typical :/ was,  her grandaddy, being real handy, had, evidently, made things ... sane, so that his wife had space to store things; had cabinet doors that opened without a struggle, and stayed closed - so there was not the hassle of a stubbed toe, while getting dinner on ... at the same time, needing to do something else.  When you have kids ....   Oh, and makes a big, BIG, difference is:  a drain that works properly.

And did i mention windows that fail to keep out the north wind?  Ya know, just another thing...passing as home maintenance, done - of course - on the cheap.  (Heaven forbid, the cost of jobs done right...uhm, gets in the way of bass boats, and beer :/)  Oh, and we all know who got yelled at for turning up the dial, two whole degrees :/  (Yeah, what's with all the yelling?  Why does every preventable situation, instead, have to morph into a mantrum?)  Every fall, among other (conflicting) tasks, it's wifey, at it again, hillbillying the things with unsightly plastic and masking tape; every spring, it's her removing all that mess - AND the stickey residue; as if she doesn't have anything else in her dawg-dish?

Why feministic women are venting all over various media-platforms?   This is not rocket science.  It's situations, described in the above paragraphs.  Women are only human, and we all know how it is with humans...after awhile, people's patience, (with slackers) finally runs out.  

Well, that was a Biblical pearl of wisdom - i.e., the flesh and Spirit at war with each other. Yep, what that for-real preacher

said, so resonated.  He said that a person (himself, included - he's a dairy farmer, i think...well, some kind of working man) can discipline him (or her) self to read a few chapters of Scripture at (whatever time) daily, but the flesh, in reality, would much rather do something else...oh, like chopping some firewood, clearing brush, or even filling out IRS forms.  

Oh what balm to my soul, to hear him express, what life is really like, for real followers of Christ.  The man has a family to support, a farm to work - and he is in his mid-60s, so getting things done takes more time, and toll on his body.  So yeah, he wants to get stuff underway, first thing in the morning.  Nor would i be surprised if he didn't catch himself tempted on sunday afternoons by either a fence to be fixed or that pile of logs to be split.  

He is the same preacher, who, a few years ago, got stiffed for some $800; he was angry, if not for the Holy Spirit, he'd of likely punched the dude, or atleast cussed him out.  It's not like $800 is chump change!  But, per Scripture, he forgave.  Onward and upward; he had to make a concerted effort to keep from getting mad, weeks, even months, after the fact.   By the way, have yet to see any Scripture telling us that forgiveness means continuing to do business with people who don't pay for goods/services rendered...or was that covered the sunday i was down with what might of been covid :/

Anyway, it's not sunday; time to get ready for work.  Bye :)

Well, didn't get an iron. If there was one available within a few miles of the house,

as things should be.  But stores, somehow, have bu-ku floorspace for all sorts of exceeding earth-HATING junk...  Anyway, if such a for-real adult item was available at the drug, hardware or grocery store... like back in the day, when people actually pressed real - read: grown-up - clothing/fabric, would likely be one of those gets-cloggy qwik steam-irons.  Btw, wasn't so long ago, you could buy small appliances at your local grocer; not any more, the space is being hogged up with cases of beer and wine.  (Yes, i hate booze, with. a. vengence!  And why do they have to have the eggs and butter stocked right next door to that crap?  Hhmmm... )  Anyway, will have to order another regular flat iron.  If i need steam, spritzing the fabric does work...yeah, that dirty word again.  

Good news is ... for now, is, was able to patch the loose connection.  Where the wire goes into the iron, after 10-some years of use, the shoulda-been-made-better wire had worn and broke the proton-thin copper wire.  Well, i have electrical tape.  And btw, when done ironing, the iron (and the coffee-pot) get unplugged.  So, will make do, until the new flat iron arrives in the mail - that will take about a month or so :/  One thing for sure, am so NOT willing to make the 10 mile trip to small-business-destroying big-box world; there's a spirit of confusion in those cavernous places - that's intentional...very!

Yep, am one of those highly annoying oolllldd people, who think things should be made to last and available for sale in the local community.   For one thing, less strain on the planet.  And, by the way, aren't all the lgbqxyz's and the wokes screaming about  carbon footprints?    Anyway, it's said ... and, be warned, you're about to smell wolf poop, that if stuff lasted, we'd all be out of work.  That is a VICIOUS LIE!  If we weren't constantly replacing the same ecology-hostile junk, over and over again, we'd find other things to spend money on, because that's what most humans do; we like to buy stuff.  

So much stuff that, about half the american adult population have to use a credit card to put tires on their vehicle.  So much that, any bank lobby has credit-card ad after credit-card and home-equity ad; it's as if they want to regard savings products like uncle elroy's seedy ... preference.

Anyway, if clothing was decent, and lasted twenty honest washings, and shoes actually kept your feet warm and dry - and still looking nice after years of wear.  What would most of us do?  Oh, that's a no-brainer!  We'd still want another sweater, another pair of jeans, a new blouse, a skirt.  If not clothing, there's twenty other things we humans would like to acquire.  Humans like having things.   If not english bone china, then it would be another vacation or weekend getaway, somewhere.  

The poor among us, would also benefit, in a junk-free economy.  For one thing, because our closets can only hold so much - trust the science :) :)   The second-hand stores would then have plenty of clothing, from small to xxx, that doesn't smell of stale plastic/ground-up bo :(   The people of west africa wouldn't have to lug heavy bales of fake fabric, only to throw away like 90% of it - which ends up clogging their waterways, polluting their air.  The west africans would, instead, be unloading smaller parcels of used clothing, and selling most of it, and making a living wage, and working a few hours less - AND having some extra money to get themselves a few nice things/saving toward their old age.  Oh that's right, i forgot, (silly me) "those people" don't matter, they're just ... 

Need curtains, so need to get busy and make them.  Bye.

Elizabeth Cady Stanton didn't like God, and certainly not His Word. Uhm, her stand wouldn't have had anything to do with

the preeecher-creatures of the time (mid 1800s) ... would it???  Ya know, the same old story, where wively submission is forefront, while husbandly provisioning...eh, somehow gets glossed over; oh, and forget about the part of loving one's wife as Christ loves his church :/

Anyway, one CERTAIN pearl of wisdom Ms. Cady Stanton wrote of was this.  She emphatically WARNED women to never, ever ditch their femininity.  If i am not mistaken, she was dead set against the bloomer fad.  Back in the mid 1800s, bloomers were basically loose fitting trousers; the fad didn't catch on too well - for the time, was too much like today's orange purple butch-cuts.

This is not a women wearing pants rant - though, in the Bible, the Lord calls women wearing men's duds an "abomination."  By the way, He says the same concerning the ole putting a thumb on the deli scale.  This post concerns a comment from a housewife - a.k.a., SAHM.  The housewife was recalling when the couple's kids were little, and how she went several years wearing threadbare jeans, and when she NEEDED a winter coat, she got a frowsey one from the (smells funny) 2nd hand store, one that was two sizes too big.

And we all know, the preeecher-creatures are also big on "denying self," i.e., women who'd like to buy a decent outfit every once in a freaking while ... oh, that's selfish.

Bull-dinky!

Uhm, it's NEVER preached, that when a wife is relegated to wearing rags, she denies her husband (whether he realizes, or even cares) his basic need.  Men are visually motivated.  While preeechers preach on about marriage being permanent, and post-divorce remarriage being adultery (see Matthew 5:32, for starters), you'd think they'd be all for keeping that 1st marriage on-board, ten, twenty, forty years down the line.  Check the science: women age!   A woman can diet and go to the gym, but 50 is still 50.

And frankly, a few nice outfits here and there are NOT mere vanities, but are, instead, necessities in keeping the marriage long-term sound. 

All's i know is - even though i am alone, how my mood instantly changes when i put on something even halfways nice.  Feel more motivated, get more done.  That's important -- though widowed and alone.  See Proverbs 31.  Anyway, godda roll.  My iron quit, godda go get another one.  Bye:)