So I’m reading the Ms. Manners column in my newspaper whilst enjoying a leisurely Saturday breakfast – it was kind of a drive-by viewing, her column is right next to a couple of columns I actually enjoy reading – and I almost snorted scrambled eggs out my schnoz. Oh, yes, I must share my giggle with you.
See, someone wrote in to our dear Ms. M, asking whether their ankle bracelet should be worn over the pantyhose or under them. (This is really a non-question. Either way, you’re gonna snag your hose – which is no big loss, since they’re a pain in the ass undergarment obviously invented by a man who’d never have to wiggle-worm his way into a pair, or suffer a serious case of swampass from wearing ‘em in the middle of a Chicago heat wave. Meh. But I digress.)
Ms. M’s reply? Why, *gasp* she ruled out both options, stating that the writer should instead try wearing it on the wrist. Um, helloooo – it’s an ankle bracelet, designed specifically to be worn on an ankle. Oh, wait…perhaps Ms. Manners was being a smarmy prig regarding the most innocuous of body adornment options? (This is where the scrambled eggs took flight. I could really use a neti pot right now.) Really? Does “polite society” still disdainfully sniff at an ankle bracelet? Bummer – I wear 2 of them on a single ankle; hey, it’s not easy being a middle-aged rebel.
I wonder if she’d like my cute little toe rings, one for each foot – I’ve been wearing them since before I had children, or what hubby refers to as the good old days (yeah, he swears he’s joking). Of course, I’m sure she’d completely ignore the fact that in Indian culture, the toe rings are worn routinely by married women to indicate their status as married women – perfectly acceptable and quite lovely.
Hm. Perhaps I’ve committed a major faux pas by not consulting Ms. M regarding placement of my tattoo. I decided to have it done on the top of my foot, not far from where an oh-so-tacky ankle bracelet would rest. Yes, it did hurt like a bitch in a few spots, but I am *so* glad I got it; in fact, I wish I hadn’t waited so long to do it – I break out in a happy smirk every time I look at it. But maybe Ms. M could’ve suggested a more tasteful spot for it – perhaps my bicep, bum or boob. (I’m partial to a boob for tat #2 – just can’t decide which one.) I suspect the tramp stamp would be an automatic thumbs-down, for which my tat artist will be most grateful.
I don’t think we should even get Ms. M started on facial piercings; I suspect she’s of the “one hole per earlobe” school of thought, so a nose or an eyebrow piercing would most decidedly be vetoed and considered ill-advised and ill-mannered. *snort* (In the interest of truthiness – has Colbert ™d that word yet? – I must report that I have neither pierced because I am a wuss. I have to get my eyebrows & lip waxed periodically because I can’t handle the ouch factor of plucking. Facial piercing fail.)
After much consideration, it's my opinion that Ms. M should only be consulted for the nuts & bolts etiquette issues: which freaking fork/spoon to use for which food course, how to hold them in a decidedly non-Neanderthal manner, and exactly where to place your dinner napkin if you’ve decided not to use it to strangle your nit-picky, holier-than-thou hostess. Yup, that’s right – we really only need her guidance regarding matters of the utmost significance in the grand scheme of things. (Bronx cheer here – etiquette can suck it.)