Well, I just got back from a weekend trip to the Smoky Mountains with Miz Judge Oaf.We stayed at the River Terrace, our favorite hotel in Gatlinburg, TN. I heartily recommend this fine establishment, especially any of the rooms in the Tower building with a southern exposure. You get a view of the Smokies that is only matched from Mount LeConte. (We tried to get reservations to the cabins up on Mt. LeConte, but they are booked solid through July of 2000! Sheesh!)

Gatlinburg is typical of every small town that grows up at the entrance of a popular National Park. Those of you who passed through East Glacier Park (Glacier National Park) in Montana; White City, NM (Carlsbad Caverns); or Williams, AZ (Grand Canyon National Park) know what I mean. Basically, you have a sprawl of ex-carny hucksters trying to separate the tourists from their hard-won vacation cash. Along with the cheapjack little shops selling pseudo-Appalachian crafts and folk art, there are the usual overpriced restaurants selling subsistence fare at premium prices. (A coke at the Ruby Tuesday's in Gatlinburg is $3.00 a glass with no refill!).

Best of a bad lot is Calhoun's, a rib joint that is about 30% more expensive than the Calhoun's in Knoxville (you've been warned!), but does a decent enough job with its varied menu. Put it this way; I've never gotten sick eating there. And it was at Calhoun's that I first glimpsed what can only be described as two of the biggest attractions of the Smoky Mountains.

Idly surveying the crowd at the bar, I noticed that a lot of the patrons were looking in my direction. Now, I'm no fashion plate, and Miz Judge Oaf's 40D's were demurely covered by her new, tourist-y aloha shirt. A quick glance behind me only found a party of old-age pensioners jabbering about the prices, so that wasn't it. Then I saw her.

Seated on a barstool with her back to me was a petite curly-topped redhead wearing an purple mesh tank top and Levi's. As she reached for her drink, a purple half moon of meshed tank top hove into view under her upraised left arm. Whoops, thinks I, this bears further study.

"Howza 'bout a drink while we're waiting for our table, hon?" "Fine", said Miz Judge Oaf, "All this waitin' has me parched!"

As we neared the bar, my view of the Purple Tank Top improved significantly. She was twenty-something, slim-waisted, a cute little nose, wearing a pair of those Will Smith "Wild Wild West" shades, and just pleased as hell about the commotion she was causing with her front porch.And what a front porch! 34F, at least, and barely contained by that low-cut, desperately straining tank top. A dual sliver of dark aureolae showed tantalizingly above the purple mesh, completing this double glimpse of heaven. She was very animated in her conversation with the two gentlemen next to her, one of whom seemed to be her slightly inebriated escort. There was a collective sigh from the bar's male population every time she'd wave her arms or shift her bottom around, and the tank top's stress limits were tested yet again. I felt a fist dig into my short ribs, accompanied by a "Tsk-snort!" from Miz Judge Oaf. I took the hint, and smoothly moved to a nearby booth where we both could watch the unfolding tableau.

"Fakes", she hissed softly under her breath to me.

"How can you tell, hon?"

"Watch 'em shimmy every time she moves. There, you see? The shimmy stops just short of her nipple line. Believe me, that's mostly grease or seawater in there. That collagen-injected nipple job is pretty lame, too."

"What th', she's got a nipple job, darlin'?"

"MY nipples don't get that big unless you're ministering to them, and it isn't THAT cold in here, either. Also, she's forty if she's a day. Those sunglasses can't hide crow's feet. Her ankles have varicose veins, too. And who told her a redhead could wear purple? Honestly, it's just too sad."

"How the... do YOU watch other women as well, hon?" "Dear, here's an education for you. EVERY woman watches every other woman. We learn it in kindergarten, I think. By the time we girls become interesting enough to be noticed by you boys, we've had almost eight years of practice scoping out the competition. And it IS competition, believe me! Do you think women are so fashion-conscious for fun?"

"Dumbfounded" is too feeble a term to describe my feelings at this point. In an instant, Ms. Purple Tank Top was transformed from "Merry Young Seductress" to "Aging Object of Pity" for me by Miz Judge Oaf's cold, almost clinical observations.

I guess it showed in my face, because Miz Judge Oaf eyes softened, and she reached across the table taking my hand in hers.

"Dear, I don't mind if you look. All men look, it's part of their genetic makeup. In fact, I'd be concerned if you DIDN'T look. Just because you've shot all your missiles don't mean the radar doesn't still work."

"Shot all my missiles, hah? Just wait 'til we get back to the room, and I'll give you a tour of the launch complex..."

"Mmmm, sounds nice. Why don't we go work up an appetite, luv?"

"Bartender, check please!"

Court's adjourned.
Judge Oaf
Senior Judge of the Superior Court of the BEArchive