Possumblog

As always--

--a right pleasant lunch. Went to Sam's Deli again over close to Dawson. Sat in the tent part and was chilly the entire time. It has those long radiant heater strips, but I would really prefer a couple of giant kerosene salamanders right under the table.

Talked about household chores, cars, car repair, former co-workers, food, contractors, The Glories of the English Language, wives, children, and cars.

Got up to leave, and found that I had been sitting in a lump of meat stuck to the seat of the chair. Resisted the urge to hike up my jacket and ask My Friend Jeff to see if it made a stain on my butt.

SPEAKING OF WHICH, sometime in the meal an attractive mom of the upwardly mobile sort who wear incredibly expensive clothing and jewelry up during the day and yet still go eat at seedy Middle Eastern delis had sat down behind me with her adorable child with the oh-so-fashionable bowl-cut hair (which people used to give their kids when they were too poor to afford to pay anyone to cut their kid's hair, but which now costs 50 bucks plus tip). The only reason I really noticed her is because when I got up and turned around, I looked down and continued to look down into the gaping chasm of her butt crack.

Now, let's review a few things. I like women. A lot. I like every single thing about them, with an especial liking for certain parts, including, but not limited to, the gluteal region. I find the lower rear backal area of a female person wonderfully artistic in design and execution, and wish to personally thank the Creator for doing such a fine job on it. I confess that I find the occasional glimpse of backside hide rather alluring, and obviously the sight thereof is met with much self-correction and shame so as not to allow my eyes to lead me into thoughts of a corrupt nature.

HOWEVER, I have to say, when you're rather more grown-up, and are obviously well passed your teenaged years, that even if you are attractive and well-gym'd, it would be best to leave the hip-hugging pants and too-short tops to the high-school kids. See, after a certain age, trying to dress like a teenager isn't really cute, or desirable, and is likely to cause men such as myself to not think lustful thoughts about the maw of your butt cleavage, but rather causes them to snicker, and to think to themselves ridiculous things, such as, "You know what? She's got enough opening there to make a dried flower arrangement."

Obviously, being all codgerly, some of us tend to express our internal monologue verbally, and so if you overheard me say that to My Friend Jeff as we passed by, I do apologize.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at November 17, 2005 02:09 PM