"I’m too old for this. I spent years, starting before I was a teenager, feeling insecure about my looks," writes Dominique Browning in a NYT op-ed titled "I’m Too Old for This."
I'm not sure how old Browning is. There's just the line "Only when you hit 60 can you begin to say, with great aplomb: 'I’m too old for this'" that indicates she's over 60. I'm over 60, and I'm kind of thinking I'm too old for this kind of women's-magazine writing about how much or little attention women should pay to how they look. So why am I blogging about this? Only because I forgot what body part "chicken wings" is supposed to refer to, and I just wanted to share that absurd experience with you. I tried Googling, and in between the recipes and the hopeless entry in Urban Dictionary — "Why is it that 99% of the people who submit definitions to this site think we're interested in their made up 'sexual' words or terms?" — I gave up.
ADDED: The first commenter, Carol, informs me that "chicken wings" refers to women's upper arms. With that additional info, I was able to Google and find "Amazing Arm Workouts for Women (See Ya, Chicken Wings)." That's in Cosmopolitan, a magazine I used to read every month back in the 1970s, when I had a job that required me to all the women's magazines every month. I got more than I could ever want of women's-magazine writing back that, fortunately in a context where I was not only paid to do it, but where I got to hang out all day with 2 other young women who were up for whatever jokes and other critique this reading material inspired.
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Upper arms. Yeah they go, after 60. They were my best feature.
Well at least you don't have buffalo wings.
Gee whiz. I figured out I was too old, too busy, too substantive for that sort of nonsense in my twenties.
How to Turn a Chicken Wing Pin Into a Double Chickenwing Pin
My biggest complaint about Mad Men was that too often it pulled its punch.
Still, some of something is better than all of nothing.
When I was twenty I had sex with a woman much older than me.
I was with my girlfriend at the time, and it was obvious that our relationship was drawing to a close -- not much to say to each other anymore, even the anal sex felt perfunctory, and when even the anal sex gets perfunctory, well: not much roadway left.
Still, we went one spring weekend to visit her mother at her house in the country: almond orchards blossoming as far as the eye could see. Her mother was thirty-seven, and a remarkably fine-looking woman at that, for a woman so old: when you are twenty the age of thirty-seven seems old indeed.
We had arrived late on Friday, so conversation had been a minimum; early Saturday morning I went down to the kitchen and poured myself a glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice. My girlfriend was still asleep upstairs -- she was always a late sleeper -- when her mother came into the kitchen after her shower, wearing only a towel.
I think I said something about almonds when she dropped the towel to the kitchen tile, and her naked body in the morning sunlight was magnificent in a great-used-car way: like a late-model Acura with no body damage and no tears in the upholstery, freshly waxed.
So she starts sucking my cock, and for a moment I realize that I probably shouldn't be engaging in this, but my cock was being sucked so I didn't really think about it that hard.
Then I bent her over the kitchen table and fucked her from behind; there was a vase with pretty flowers on it, I remember that. I was gentle at first -- I did not want her to break a hip or something --but then she told me "Harder! Harder!" so I complied.
When I finally ejaculated there was come everywhere: on the ceiling fan, on the table, on the flowers in the vase, on the refrigerator door with all the photos stuck to it with magnets, and in her hair.
After we cleaned up we had breakfast, when my girlfriend finally came down to join us. I got a bit nervous when she paused to sniff the air, but I think she was just smelling bacon.
As we ate I did the math. I was twenty and she was thirty-seven: not bad, really.
When I would be thirty she would be forty-seven; this could be concerning.
When I was fifty she would be sixty-seven, and being fifty is too young a man to be eating at Sizzler's' Afternoon specials.
Sunday afternoon we said our good-byes, and drove back to town.
I still remember this time with a feeling of longing. And mild regret at not at least trying for a mother-daughter threesome.
I am Laslo.
Part of the confusion is that I've seen them called "bat wings" in British news websites.
Yes, I read the Daily Mail. But only for the irony.
My contented take on aging:
Cowboy: "Give me 3 packets of condoms, please."
Cashier: "Do you need a paper bag with that, sir?"
Cowboy: "Nah...She's purty good lookin'....."
When you are over seventy who gives a shit
***********
Some asshole looked at my beer belly last night and sarcastically said, "Is that Corona or Bud?"
I said, "There's a tap underneath; taste it and find out."
When you are over seventy who gives a shit?
***********
I was talking to a girl in the bar last night. She said, "If you lost a few pounds, had a shave and got your hair cut, you'd look all right."
I said, "If I did that, I'd be talking to your friends over there instead of you."
When you are over seventy who gives a shit?
***********
I was telling a girl in the bar about my ability to guess what day a woman was born just by feeling her boobs.
"Really" she said, "Go on then...try."
After about thirty seconds of fondling she began to lose patience and said, "Come on, what day was I born?"
I said, "Yesterday."
When you are over seventy who gives a shit?
***********
I got caught taking a pee in the swimming pool today.
The lifeguard shouted at me so loud, I nearly fell in.
When you are over seventy who gives a shit?
***********
I went to the bar last night and saw a fat chick dancing on a table. I said, "Great legs."
The girl giggled and said, "Do you really think so."
I said, "Definitely! Most tables would have collapsed by now."
When you are over seventy who gives a shit?
My mother (78) calls them "bingo wings." I had to laugh because, growing up Wisconsin, I knew exactly what she meant.
"chicken wings"
Also known as "The Bat Signal" and "Diabetes Arms".
I gave up on Cosmo when I realized their monthly sex secret that would amaze your man was neither a secret nor, way too often, very sexy.
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