What do you think of when I say “wings”? Red Bull? Paul McCartney? The 90s NBC sitcom? Well, if you’re like most gluttonous Americans, probably these:
If you’re a lady between the ages of 13 and 49, currently bloated and irritable, craving chocolate and Pinot Grigio, it might mean this:
“Normal Plus?” Three drops of moisture denotes, “Don’t worry, you may be losing an inordinate amount of blood today, but you’re only borderline anemic, and consequently still in the spectrum of normal. Congrats!” Chafing wings in your bikini area? Ain’t nobody got time for that.
But if you don’t foresee buying many more of those boxes in your future, or you’re done with them entirely, “wings” might mean this most awesome of hairstyles. You probably attempted some semblance of it at one point.
I’m familiar with all of those wings, sometimes incorporating the three of them in the same moment. But never had I seen a power mower with wings until today.
The small print reads, “This giant of precison mowers…is the pride and joy of many men who mow grass for a living–and more than a few wealthy men who mow grass for fun.” For fun! Interpret as you will.
Hey, BTW, is it wrong of me to assume that any print image I’ve ever seen should be easily accessed on Google Images? I found this ad in my 1955 Life magazine, but could not find its digital counterpart on Google. Maybe I should have risked carpal tunnel and scrolled down seventeen more pages. It just seems like if Google Maps can deliver the address and photo of the backwoods Smokey Mountain hideout of my eighth grade volleyball coach, then it should have the power to deliver an image printed on twenty million Life magazines. That’s all I’m saying.
Ahem. There are also scads of songs with “wings” in the titles. Broken wings, dove’s wings, eagle’s wings, butterfly wings, pineapple shrimp, lemon shrimp, coconut shrimp, pepper shrimp…Oh, sorry. I had a Bubba moment from Forrest Gump. Little wings, silver wings, paper wings. But the song I never ever want to hear again, so help me God–not at a wedding or a funeral or a bris–is “Wind Beneath My Wings.” I can’t take it one more time. I really can’t. Not by any artist, and not by your cousin Sheila. It makes me cringe.
INXS told us that, “We all have wings, but some of us don’t know why.” Does this gal know why? To fly from catwalk to catwalk? Those look heavy.
Wings have inspired quotes from Shakespeare to Charles Dickens, but only one as elegant and classy as Mae West could have confessed, “I’m no angel, but I’ve spread my wings a bit.” Which reminds me of this:
What’s the shelf life on that tat? A wee bit more than this unfortunate gal’s…
Ouch. Pass the blue cheese.
So whether you are right wing or left wing or a Detroit Red Wing, remember that we can all soar on wings like eagles. Or not.