This morning, we were at breakfast in our swanky hotel in Beverly Hills. It was our last day, and we were having breakfast in the rooftop restaurant. The kids had eaten and left, and my husband and I were just leaving as well, when a woman walked in looking for a table.
She was wearing uber-tight brown shiny leggings and some sort of flowered shirt that was stretched too tightly on her body. "She's my age," I murmured. "How do you know?" "Women my age are the ones who dress like that." Just at that moment she turned around, and we could see that she was in her 40s. "And they should never dress like that," I commented as we stepped on to the elevator.
Later, as we were sitting in our rental car in front of the hotel, getting ready to go to the airport, I looked out, and there she was again, climbing, or trying to climb into, an SUV. Her leggings, obviously too short in the rise, had slid down, and we saw butt crack. She stepped back on the ground, and stepped up again to haul herself in, exposing an unfortunate amount of her derriere. My husband exclaimed, "I will never be able to unsee that!"
