There they are, those clothes you would only let your teenage daughter wear if you happened to be pimping her out on the side, and they're on a 65 year-old woman. Ahh, summertime in Brooklyn. And in a sudden epiphany, you realize why delis always give you your food in paper bags.
Even for a youth- and sex-obsessed society, isn't this a bit much? How is the image of a retirement-aged woman in a tight, scooped-neck tee supposed to be appealing? You start wondering if there's there's a club for wealthy octogenerian bachelors nearby.
I suppose that we deserve this. Our culture has been saying for a long time now that virile, copulating bodies are only approached in importance by consumer goods, so much so that the "greatest good" now sounds like a bad pun if you say it in Latin. So, we got what we asked for, I guess. Maybe we should have asked for propriety instead.
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