From Diana to Delilah, They’re All Beautiful
 
 
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
I was at a book sale the other day, a giant culling of used library books from all over the state sold in some humongous building at the Fairgrounds for amazingly low prices. Anyway, it draws a very large crowd. And of course anything that draws large crowds also draws lots of women. So naturally, my attention is taken from time to time away from the tables of beautiful but sometimes well worn books to beautiful but sometimes well worn women. And leaning over a table full of books brings one in close proximity to those women. Hundreds of books, hundreds of women, and getting very close to both. What could be better? As we all know, one can break books down into groups, or genres: Fiction, non-fiction, literary, sci-fi, horror, and all of those can be subdivided into groups or sub-genre's. Likewise, one can break down women into different groups as well. And, like books, they all have their hot ones and their not so hot ones. For instance, biker chicks. Some look so damned good that you find it has disturbed your mind. Others look so bad that you find it has disturbed your lunch. Like anything else, in all classes and types, there is in the world of women's looks, the pretty and the paltry. So it is with women of the Mennonite variety, or Amish, or whatever it is when you see those women in the long dresses, no make-up, and some kind of small head covering they wear over their hair that is always up in a bun. Yeah, those. And I have to say, I find some of them very sexy ... now wait a minute, hold on, before you scream out in disbelief and call the loon squad on me, let's look at it for a moment, objectively. You have a woman, a female of the species, usually equipped with all the parts needed to catch the eye of a healthy, red-blooded American male. Strip her down to her bare essentials, and you wouldn't know to which group she belongs. Bleach her hair, put her in a black halter-top, tight jeans, loads of eyeliner and tattoos, and she a Harley-Davidson princess. Put her in a gray flannel business skirt and blazer, throw some glasses on her, and she becomes an executive at an advertising agency or a librarian ... mmm, a librarian! Sorry, back to the subject at hand. Now, take that same woman and put her hair in a bun, slip a long loose dress on her, wash her face clean of any make-up whatsoever, and voila, a country maiden at a barn raising. All I'm saying is that it's the framing and foundation that make the house, not the plastic pillars and paint job – which brings me back to that fine and lovely structure I saw at the book sale. She was probably 5' 9", around twenty six, maybe twenty eight, fairly full figured, with a small waist and flaring hips, very talented (talented is a euphemism for breast size), and had a beautiful full head of thick, dark hair, of course put up into a bun with a small black cap pinning it all together. And as those of her kind are known for, she had not a bit of make-up on of any kind. I pictured her, after we were married of course, in a black garter belt and nylons, her face painted up like a vampire on steroids, her hair big and wild, and her staring at me, gritting her teeth as she ... ahem. Sorry, got a little carried away there. But what caught my eye were her legs. Well, I couldn't actually see her legs because of that damned ankle length dress, but I could see her waist. And because of where her hips began – and what wonderful hips they were – that told me that her legs were especially long. Now I got a thing for long legs. I once dated a six-footer. She was German. Her legs almost mesmerized me. Running my hands up and down those stilts than seemed like they ran for miles made my mouth water, and every time I did it something came over me, I could feel myself building, growling inside, turning into a seething, hungry ... sorry again. So yes, this Amish, or Mennonite, or whatever she was, woman was hot. I thought of going up to her and asking her out, but with what was on my mind at the time, I was afraid God would send a bolt of lightening and strike me dead right there on the spot. Or worse, make her say yes! Either one would probably damage me permanently. The lesson? As I've said before, and still hold to today: All women are beautiful simply because of the fact that they are women. However they are painted, prepped, or packaged, whatever the tinsel, whatever the color, wherever the setting, and however they are presented, the Creator knew what he was doing when he made those marvelous creatures. Truly, the female form proves that there must be a God, for only a supreme and eternal creator could craft such a phenomenal and angelic beauty out of a mere human being? No star so bright, no sea so blue No flower so delicate in radiant hue Could ever presume, could ever conceive To be found to compare with the daughters of Eve. Keck
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