Burqa's A-Comin' Here!

When I first heard about this, the Cranky Old Man who resides behind the curtains of my soul was at first grimly satisfied. (YOU know who that Cranky Old Man is, he's chasing you out of his yard or confiscating your wiffle ball. He's the Junior Soprano of my psyche. Or maybe, in this case, the Bill Cosby.)

I loathe the oversized, beltless pants look almost as much as I hate the flat-brimmed ballcap (with its MLB sticker still affixed) that is the inevitable topper to the low-pants look. And before you give me the social lecture about prisoners having their belts taken away from them, blah blah blah, yeah, I know. But still, I see a young thug on the subway wearing his pants low, so low that he can't take a normal stride, instead shuffling along like he ate too many jalapeno poppers last night, and my first thought is "WHAT A TOOL."

But I thought about it for a few minutes, and I looked at the picture that accompanied this article, then I noted where the ordinance was passed, and then at the wording of the ordinance, and a teeny tiny little flame of indignation started to burn. Not a blazing fire, maybe something pilot-light sized, but it got me a-thinkin.

Here's the ordinance: It shall be unlawful for any person in any public place or in view of the public to be found in a state of nudity, or partial nudity, or in dress not becoming to his or her sex, or in any indecent exposure of his or her person or undergarments, or be guilty of any indecent or lewd behavior.

Vague (actually, not so vague when you think about it) racist overtones aside, it's the phrase, "in dress not becoming to his or her sex" that carries a whiff of the Ayatollah about it. Who makes that determination? If the Town Fathers of Buttmunch, Louisiana decide that women must not wear tight jeans, or ANY jeans for that matter (not becoming to their sex!), what will happen next? What if I use a public restroom, inadvertently tuck my skirt into the waistband of my thong, and parade down Main Street without realizing I'm shootin a moon at the Civil War re-enactors in the village green -- can I be arrested if no kindly soul helpfully points out that no one wants to see my ass?

You're not allowed to wear baggy hip-hop pants in this cracker-ass town, but I'd bet my life that you can pretty much buy a gun any time you want.