Dear Women Who Wear Saris

Dear Sari-Wearers:

Make no mistake, wearers of Saris: I'm all for tradition. Traditions often prove hugely comforting in our lives - a certain meal on a certain day of the week, a certain ritual at the holidays, a lucky pair of socks on an important day at work. I both honor and embrace tradition, ergo, would never want to be cast as someone who lacks an appropriate reverence.

Except when it comes to Saris. The sari, perhaps one of the most easy to fold items of clothing (I believe it is one continuous bolt of cloth) can be traced back to the Indus Valley civilization in 2800-1800 BC - long before the days when Anna Wintour could snap her fingers and a trend would change. So while the Sari has withstood the test of time, I would like to posit that we've reached a time and a place when the Sari is no longer appropriate.

Sari-wearers, living as I do in the West, I don't see many of you. And when I do, you're never an exotic, young Bollywood dancer sashaying down the street. Nay, you are invariably a 60-90 year old woman in the grocery store or at the gas station, not in the best of shape, your midriff, bared to varying degrees depending on the drape of the sari, decidedly flabby. And, let's be frank, any midriff-baring is just too much. Such as you, middle-aged Sari-Wearer, in the Beverly Glen Starbucks over the weekend:

(before this woman adjusted her sari, considerably more flesh was exposed.)

Sari-Wearers, I implore you, cover up your flabby FUPA. I pray to Vishnu I never have to look at one again.

Best Regards,
Dear Crabby