I decided to publish the Dentdale Diaries a few years ago. I'd had a wonderful time growing up in Dentdale, and my memories of the place and its inhabitants were fond! Although our family moved away from Dentdale, we would occasionally go back to visit friends and family who resided in the area. As the years went on, I kept in touch with current and former Dentdalians via email and various internet sites.
It was by chance that I was in Philadelphia on business, when I learned of Jake Barrington's passing and his impending funeral. I extended my trip, and rented a car so that I could attend Jake's funeral service at Saint Frances de Sales on Gloucester Pike in Dentdale. Jake's funeral will be the subject of another chapter. But, as with most Irish funerals, it was a time for great sadness and a time of great humor. I walked away from the event remembering how Frisky Barrington's emails presented some of the best written material that I've ever read, and so I dug up a few of them to share with the readership of the Dentdale Diaries.
Frisky Barrington and I were the same age, and although our lives could not have been more different, our childhood bond, and general outlook on morality, politics, and world issues pretty much jived.
Frisky is certainly dramatic, but not extremist. In this email he reacts to the radical right wing of a particular group...
To: Anonymous Dent
From: Frisky Barrington
RE: Does this really have to be done in public?
"Dear (Anonymous Dent):
It was nice to see you last week. I'm sorry we didn't have more time to visit....
On occasion, I indulge myself in a rant. As time goes on, I find myself mellowing, and I would hope that you've noticed my rants are occurring with less frequency. I really don't want to be that cranky old guy in the corner house, but, like Father, like Son, and I fear I am doomed to a retirement spent writing letters-to-the-editor and fomenting in public venues about things that are better left unwritten, unthought, or unspoken.
In an effort to retain what little remains of the public's perception that I am somewhat sane, I will be running my rants through you for editing, comment, and clarification. A decent friend would ask if this arrangement is acceptable, but I've never really been a decent friend, so you'll just have to do my bidding, and suffer through my tirades. By no means are you encumbered to respond - it is hoped that you'll consider the source of these agitated writings and allow the opinions that I express to waft away into the nether regions of the 'inter-web'!
I realize that as time goes by, you, me and others, should utilize our remaining energy and resources to enact changes that will make the world a better place. In this regard, my rants should focus on the merits and demerits of global warming, a woman's right to choose, voter I.D. laws in Mississippi, the decaying infrastructure of bridges and highways in America, starving children in the Adirondacks, and the board of education for the state of Texas who insist that public school's teach creationism and treat Darwinism as 'theory'.
All of the topics that I mentioned above, are undeniably good fodder for my rants, but I believe you and I solved all of those problems last week when we drained my bar of its best scotch. Clearly, what the world needs now is not 'love sweet love' - it needs you and I (and a nice bottle of single malt) to run it for a week or two to get things straightened out.
Two days after you left, I was surfing the interwebnet thingy and came across a rather innocuous little incident that occurred in one of America's favorite shopping emporium: Target.
On a recent summer's day, a rather buxom lass determined that her infant son's demands for nourishment could no longer be dismissed. This demand came at its usual time (10:15 a.m. every day of the week in this child's 293 day existence). For reasons unknown BL (Buxom Lass) was surprised when Sonny-boy could not be persuaded to understand that a fifty-cent coupon for Doritos had to be cashed in at Target at the same time as his need-for-feed, and that the coupon ranked a little higher on BL's to-do list!
As could be easily predicted, Sonny-boy decided to publicly shame BL for her negligence by piercing the calm, quiet, and easy-listening-music airs of the local Target store with his operatic bellowing. BL does not like being publicly embarrassed. It wasn't Sonny-boys bellowing that embarrassed her - after all he could howl like that for hours at home without her giving a rat's patootie. What embarrassed her was that his bellowing brought attention to her clearance-rack presence. BL and her husband Bubba didn't want the world to know that this child (Sonny-boy), their fifth (and God help us) last child was the child that broke the bank.
BL and her pseudo-socialite friends never missed an episode of The Real Wives of (fill in the city). Life in their suburban McMansions meant that mortgage payments, car leases, and botox treatments precluded any fashion statements that came off the runways of New York, Paris, and Rome. It was Prada Nada for these lasses. However, between TJMaxx, and Target these girls did somehow manage to pull off a fresh 'look' on a fairly frequent basis.
Believing that her quick run to Target for the aforementioned (couponed) Doritos did not require a full-on maquillage, BL grabbed her NYX matte finish lipstick (Sweet Pink is the preferred color) that was worn down to the nub, scrunchied her Supercuts hairdo into a ponytail, and covered her roots with a baseball cap!
BL was well-known for her beautiful eyes and lovely personality. In the South, this description is generally followed with a 'Bless-her-heart' and an almost imperceptible nod between those describing BL that acknowledged the cold-hearted truth: BL's former cheer-leader physic was not likely to bounce back after the birth of this current lad (in fact, it was an unspoken truth that sometime around child number three BL started letting things 'slide').
BL could still turn heads and set tongues wagging at The Target with her beauty. Fortunately for BL, Isaac Mizrahi's plus sized fashions hid the 'baby weight' that was certainly going to come off in the next few months. But sometimes (as it was on this auspicious occasion) BL's pret-a-porter Mizrahi was 'at the cleaners' (Translation: covered in baby-poo/vomit/or spittle, at the bottom of the laundry basket).
Lacking any other cut rate couture, and falsely believing that if she went to the Target on the other side of town no one would see her, BL threw on a sports bra, and clingy tank top from Juicy Couture. Paring this with a pair of bright pink Lululemon four-way-stretch yoga pants, and some barely scuffed Nike sneakers, BL was off-to-the races at Le Target!
Packing the other four children into the leased Navigator (whose monthly lease payment was only six days past due) BL grabbed Sonny-boy with the firm belief that at 10:15 on this day, God please, just this once, on this day: Sonny-boy would forget about his feeding, or be content with a bottle.
Ah, the dreams and desires of those who think that life should be fair! The daycare center had been closed for a week because of an unfortunate infestation of lice that required the tenting and fumigating of the building. Bubba was on an unexpectedly-extended nine day trip to the Permian Basin to assist in the fracking of America. Her mother-in-law was on a honeymoon cruise with this (her fourth) husband, and BL no longer spoke to her own relatives because of an unfortunate incident at last year's Fourth of July picnic involving her sister Brittany's Tequila-fueled twerking in front of the defenseless and hapless Bubba! ("Defenseless my ass" screamed BL at Bubba throughout that month of July). On this, day ten, of BL being a single mom to this squad of five screaming brats (formerly known as, and referred to as God's little blessings) BL wondered if she could tent her own home for fumigation and conveniently 'forget' that the children were still inside. Or, an even better defense would have been that the lice shampoo just wasn't doing-the-job, and it was her impression that the children found it easier to breath the fumes than to shower thrice daily.
The first ten minutes at Target went as well as could be expected. Not all of the earrings flew off the display rack when Bubba Jr. twirled it with all the strength he could muster. The twins (Caitlyn and Bruce - whose naming honored the dubious accomplishments of a certain Mr. Jenner) busied themselves with their magic markers. This time the twins limited their artistic efforts to the easily-wiped linoleum floor before store security intervened. Jenny-lyn happily napped away in the large seat of the Caroline's Cart that Target provided for those with special needs children. None of BL and Bubba's children had special needs - it was BL whose needs were special this day, and anyone who had a complaint about BL's using this cart was also probably going to have an opinion about BL parking in the Pregnant-women-only spot out front - well at least it wasn't the handicapped spot, and thankfully (this time) Bubba Jr. hadn't gone joy-riding in an unattended motorized wheelchair that some poor disabled person had momentarily left in front of the ladies room.
As was said, the first ten minutes went as well as could be expected. Sometime around minute eleven or twelve - all hell broke loose....
Sonny-boy has learned that BL tends to the fire that burns the brightest. BL greases the wheel that squeaks the loudest. BL is easily distracted by that shiny thing in the distance (worried mostly that the shiny thing is Bubba Jr. playing with Bubba Sr.'s Colt 45). Sonny-boy does not regard himself as mistreated, or underserved, he just knows that he has been fed at 10:15 a.m. every day of his life, and that this change-of-location and circumstances was not sufficient excuse for him to delay his satisfactions. At approximately 10:26 a.m. the first scream pierced the air....
BL assessed the situation, and quickly listed her options:
- Throw a bottle in Sonny-boy's mouth. The problem here was that the bottle has been left in the Navigator, and the cart was laden with unpaid-for items (including the Doritos that had instigated this trip). Going to the car would have meant finding a separate cart, loading the kids, going to the car, returning to the merchandise-filled cart in the hopes that a well-intentioned stock-boy had not returned all of her items to the departments from which they had been mined......
- Ignore Sonny-boy, head to the cashier, and bear the cluck-cluckings of other Target shoppers who stood in line with this howling banshee and his errant, sugar fueled, Ritalin-taking brothers and sisters.
- Give Sonny-boy what he wanted: a nice quiet breast-feeding!
It was the third option that BL thought to be the path of least resistance. The other children's Ritalin and anti-depressants were now kicking in, and the guy from store security had scared the bejesus out of the twins so 'the mob' was now under control. All that was needed was a place to sit so that Sonny-boy's needs could be ministered to!
It was the relatively quiet space and ample seating at the Target snack bar that BL chose as the site for Sonny-boy, Bubba Jr. Caitlyn, Bruce, and Jenny-lyn's respite from today's chores and shopping spree! Whilst the other children munched away on their snack of choice (paid for with the Capital One credit card that WASN'T over its limit, or past due), BL gave Sonny-boy his due.
This, my dear Anonymous, is where I, Frisky Barrington get my proverbial tit-in-a-wringer.
Back-in-the-day, a breast feeding was a charming, bonding moment, to be shared between mother and child. It was a time where a milk-filled-bosom was an object for the husband and child to enjoy. Loose garments were generally preferred in these pre-Jane Fonda/Richard Simmons spandex days. A tight fitting undergarment, or favored pre-pregnancy (thereby ill-fitting) garment would be paired with a husband's dress shirt, or lovely 'over-blouse' that need not be fashionable as everyone understood this over-blouse was being worn for temporary functional purposes, not as a fashion statement.
Accent this men's shirting/dreary over-blouse with some oversized earrings and a designer label handbag/shoe combination and a woman could go from dawn to dusk without fear of being under or overdressed.
The other benefit of this ensemble was that those card-carrying member of the La Leche group could discretely feed their young, make a political statement, and do so with discretion and a certain amount of propriety.
BL was not aware of the benefits an over-blouse could bring. Lacking even a towel to convey or suggest some sense of modesty, BL lifted her (ironically labelled) Juicy Couture tank-top and let Sonny-Boy have-at-it! Had BL chosen a corner booth or table, and given Sonny-boy his well-deserved privacy none of us would be reading this today. No, BL believed that her other children's behaviors would create sufficient smoke screen for her rather dubious choice of breast-feeding-site. Unfortunately, BL was never considered small-of-breast and even though Sonny-boy voraciously obscured BL's boob from the prying eyes of other Target customers, one simply could not ignore the fact that BL was, in fact, in a state of dishabille - a state of undress (as the French would say).
Many years ago I faced a similar boob. An inexperienced, and unprepared real estate investor had convinced a small group to invest a portion of their retirement funds into a company that would 'flip' houses for profit. The young man who gathered these investors together had a somewhat limited perspective on the 'flipping' process. He was in the mortgage industry, so he saw 'flippers' who would acquire a small mortgage that was quickly paid off when their 'flip' sold. He had worked with experienced and well-financed 'flippers' who understood the challenges that one could face. He did not work with failed 'flipper's because those folks never applied for, or received mortgages for their (losing) investment properties. He saw this 'flipping' business as a gold mine, but did not realize that the gold mines lay further west and that he would be lucky to find a little coal for his fires in the geologically bereft of minerals sites and 'estates' that he intended to flip!
This young boob and his supportive wife had never owned a home, never worked with a contractor, and never even lifted a paint-brush. They had decided that this lack of qualifications or experience meant that the contractors, realtors, and others related to this 'flip' would be generous and kind - after all, isn't generosity and kindness the foundation of the real estate industry? Anyway, they purchased five homes in one day. Hired five separate contractors for each property, and without any previous design experience or professional design assistance, planned to flip these properties within six weeks.
I, Frisky Barrington, had become the object of their affections through a reality TV show that focused on my home staging business. Their attentions arrived on my doorstep at about the same time that the sub-prime mortgage problem was having a negative affect on my business. Their money was green, and although I had trepidations about the project, I agreed to consult them during the construction phase, with an eye towards staging the end results.
At one of the projects, the wife regaled me with her thoughts about decorating. Well, I was being paid to listen - so what the heck. On this day, I was introduced to their two-year-old daughter. As you know, I didn't like kids when I was (and you were, dear Anonymous) a child. My dislike of children has not waned nor mellowed. A child on a construction site is a terrible idea, and a child on a construction site where I am also in attendance is possibly one of the worst ideas - ever!!!
At some point during this meeting, the wife declares that the child is still being breast fed. I don't think it's farfetched to say that I don't know nothing about breast-feeding no babies. I pretty much assume that those who know me, and those who have met me for the first time, would discern that on the topic of female breasts and their machinations - I am clueless.
Immediately after informing me that the daughter needs to be fed, I am treated to this rather bovine-shaped lass's bare breast and her rapacious child's public feeding. To be fair, I was asked if I objected to this public display of affection, but I was being asked whilst the aforementioned tittery was being exposed - thereby making my only polite response to be: "I'll have what she's having..."?
So there I stood in the backyard of some crappy bungalow in The Heights, with this woman, her child, and her boobs (the husband and her breast) - all being treated to the fresh air and sunlight that Houston is renowned for.
Shortly after this Kodak moment, and for reasons unrelated to the boob she displayed, but totally related to the boob she married - I quit the project.
Back to BL at the Target snackbar: some dolt passes by BL and the snacking Sonny-boy, and can not help but notice the Rubenesque BL's boob being passed around like a cheerleader at a frat party. The Dolt has come to Target for his Metamucil and other digestive treatments, but decides that a sticky bun, and a Starbucks is just what his diet needs - hence his presence at Target's snackateria!
Not having the good sense to keep his undesired observations of the unavoidable display of breast to himself, The Dolt calls BL a whore and a slut. OK, OK, bad choice of words. In fact, any choice of words would have been a bad choice, because in today's day and age, a cellphone can record any indiscretion at the flick of a switch.
Being caught between a rock and a hard place, BL grabs her camera so that this escalating public embarrassment can be shared with us all! In this era of mob justice, we are all expected to extend our sympathies and finance a Go-Fund-Me account for anyone suffering anything more than a hangnail or bunion. Success as a victim depends upon being the first person to post an incident on Facebook, Tweet a perceived indiscretion, Link-in to equally affected parties, and then attach a YouTube video to one's personal blog to attract the attentions of some Gloria Allred wannabe!
BL records the still feeding Sonny-Boy, and the castigations of The Dolt. What The Dolt did not realize was that the right wing, militant division of the local La Leche League had gathered in the brassiere department at Target for an informative lecture on proper bra sizing, and other merits of the various lingerie selections that Target provided to the lactating woman.
BL was gloriously unaware that her city boasted a rather vocal group of breast bearing Amazons whose group photo reveals these women to be more than a little curvaceous. Apparently membership in the Itty Bitty Titty club precludes one's acceptance in La Leche. The rather cow-eyed, bovine shaped, card carrying members of La Leche were informed about the quickly developing disturbance in the snackery and herded themselves towards the commotions!
Much to the dismay of store management, store security, and merchandise managers who had gathered to 'protect and defend BL's right to public display, the La Leche crowd whipped 'em out, and offered their cage free breasts to all who were hungry. Unfortunately, these well-intentioned lactators did not post age or size restrictions for those who pounced upon their bounteous breasts. This oversight resulted in another unanticipated embarrassment at The Target. A twenty-nine-year-old UPS driver leapt at this opportunity to show his support. He was then joined by the seventy-two-year-old mayor of the town who claimed sudden-onset Alzheimers, and a charming lesbian lacrosse coach (age undisclosed) who happened to visiting relatives in the area. These three folks showed the dolt what-was-what, and it can honestly be stated that they (and a few unnamed others) got their licks in on the topic at hand! All-in-all I think it can honestly be said that everyone involved acted with 'udder' disgrace!
BL is now the poster child for The International La Leche League. She regards Kate Gosselin as her patron saint, and is a regular guest at The Duggar's table. The Go-Fund-Me account was a roaring success and BL recently received a rather stunning six figure advance from Random House for her soon-to-be published memoir: Mammories: Light the Corner of My Mind!
A frequent guest on Ellen, Wendy Williams, The Today Show (where Matt Lauer displayed personal interest in her cause), and other shows of similar ilk has led to conversations with TLC and Bravo about a weekly reality show tentatively entitled: Two Breast, or not Two Breast: that is the question!
A diagnosis on The Dr. Phil show of recurrent, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder was the basis for litigation against Target and its affiliate companies and vendors because they should have telepathically known that The Dolt would be triggered into his Tourette-like verbosity at the site (to say nothing of his proximity) of BL's exposed aereola. The Dolt has filed a similar suit against Target and BJ for defamation of character, PTSD, and anal leakage all being the result of this all-too-avoidable incident.
As for Bubba, he supports BL's efforts and is always keen to host the La Leche League keggers. Apparently nothing pleases Bubba more than to witness twenty or thirty breasts being bared. If he had it his way, the entire female population should be encouraged to bare-em-if-you-got-em. After last year's La Leche International convention Bubba's needed medical assistance, for his frozen Mona Lisa smile, and the erection that lasted for over four hours....
As it often is in life, the innocent must bear (so-to-speak) the burden that comes with fame. It is reported that Sonny-boy's first words were: "No comment!" Sadly, Sonny-boy will forever be mocked as a 'breast-man'. His attempts to be respected as an accomplished foot-fetishist will be met with mockery, disdain, and disbelief. After many years in therapy, religious conversion programs, and a few too many sessions with Freudians who refuse to believe that Sonny-boy's preference for Bundt-cake is anything but the result of BL's terrible, horrible, really bad day - Sonny-boy will settle down with a nice man of impeccable Laotian descent who boasts no less than five supernumerary nipples.
Dear Anonymous, I became so involved with my story that I nearly forgot to express my earlier promised rant. I think that there is a time and a place for everything. In third world countries it is a century old practice to eliminate one's waste in what passes for a street. Pissoirs were quite common in Paris until the 1980s. Were one to attend to one's toilet duties in the open air at The Champs Elysees, or at 57th and Madison in New York, one's actions would be generally be considered inappropriate and met with interest by the local constabulary
I correlate all of these bodily functions because I strongly feel that there should be no shame attached to anything that the human body does. However, I do believe that we (as a society) have pretty much determined that not everything needs to be shared with everyone. Some people are just exhibitionist by their nature. It is completely appropriate for them to share their talents with like-minded people who enjoy (or at least don't object to) their actions.
I think BL and The Dolt were equally inappropriate in their behavior. Both individuals needed to respect the behavioral boundaries that society has embraced. BL could have planned her day more appropriately, covered herself with a towel or over-blouse, or just turned away from the prying eyes of strangers. She need not be embarrassed by her duties to her son. By being somewhat more discrete (but not hiding what she was doing) she gives us all an option:
- to ignore what is going on,
- embrace what is going on with a smile or nod,
- or simply not notice what is going on.
The Dolt should have exercised a little more maturity and handled his complaint through the proper channels. The best option that he could have exercised would have been to inform store management that they needed to provide private space for their guests who need the accommodations that BL required. In this case, BL could not have chaperoned her boys in the ladies room at Target. But, she could easily have asked for privacy in the larger fitting rooms that are provided to those with special needs. The children could join BL in the fitting room, where all activities could be supervised, and corralled.
This last option is probably the best. The person who would have benefited the most, is the futuristically long suffering Sonny-boy. After all, who likes being seen eating in public? I have been seated on the dais table of too many weddings, banquets, and fund raising events, and absolutely hate the thought of some camera phone, or well-intentioned photographer capturing someone's special moment with me unconsciously photo-bombing said photo with an over-laden fork filled with the evening's chicken, fish, or filet!
Anonymous, thanks so much for letting me rant! I have needed to get this topic off my chest (so to speak) for some time now! I am pleased to report that I wrote this entire essay with my shirt on.... So, you see, if some dolt passes by my window or doorway and is compelled to shout whore or slut, it is for reasons other than my attire....
Wishing you the best!
Warmest regards:
Frisky Barrington
