Forgive me please...

courtesy of photobucket.com

It's been a while since I posted here, I know.

And, perhaps after such delay the words I choose to write should be of a more...shall we say, "erudite" nature, especially considering all the really important things going on in the world right now.   But, I've got to get something off my chest, offering my sincere apologies in advance for any I might offend. 


I don't like it when guys wear a lot (any) of jewelry.
 

Lest any that know me claim hypocrisy in my above statement let me start with the disclaimer that my (or anyone's) leather banded Timex watch does not qualify as "jewelry," nor does the gold wedding band on my left ring finger count either. That's not what we're talking about.  Now, a diamond studded, 14 karat Rolex timepiece that costs more than a car and is nearly as big?  Well, that's another story.


Maybe it's a sin.  Maybe it's narrow-minded.  Maybe it's un-Christian like to feel and say so, but it's the truth. 

At the gym today I couldn't help but notice a man blinged up like like an LA rapper going to the Oscars or Emmys or whatever those music awards are where the ladies wear dresses so tight they have to hold their breath for two hours so they don't bust anything. 

I know Jesus was all about the heart and discounting appearances.  And, I want to believe Him.  But, He didn't see Biff today in his lily white sneakers, white Polo anklets, white cotton shorts, white Addidas t-shirt and white Armani warm up jacket with a gold rope chain dangling from his neck and a sparkling tennis bracelet wrapped about his wrist.  Apparently he needs an endocrine adjustment as well because it was way too hot to be wearing a jacket.

Did I mention he was every bit of seventy years old, maybe older?

You should have seen his tan too.  He looked like he had been shaked and baked by Julia Childs herself.  If only our thanksgiving turkeys emitted the golden, healthy hue of his old epidermis.  Nobody gets a suntan like that this early in Virginia, even if he skis naked for a week.  And, I know he didn't winter in some exotic, equatorial paradise because I see him regularly all winter long.  So it could only be one thing:  the tanning bed. 

And, something about that just seems so wrong.

It wasn't just the jewelry, tan skin, and matching (I mean so much matching that it doesn't really match) outfit that made him look like a walking billboard for the Neiman Marcus senior section.  Evidently he had recently bathed in a tub of Hai Karate after shave and combed his hair with the matching tonic so as to correctly layer the scents.  One wiff of his aura could have rendered a baby rhino unconscious.

I mean, no need to smell or dress like a beast of burden in our "advanced" society. I get that. Heck, I have a spray bottle of Double Black Polo cologne and even wore pleated jeans in high school, proudly claiming the "best dressed" senior superlative- a small idiosyncracy my wife still finds amusing/disturbing/weird/mildly (with an emphasis on mildly) attractive. In fact, I completely shocked my wife during our first year of marriage when she realized I showered twice a day and sometimes more if necessary.  But, come on.  Give me (us all) an olfactory break.  I think some of those Hai Karate molecules are still stuck about my nose innards even now.  Besides, at his age he should know that subtlety is the real aroma of romance. 


Never have seen his car either, but I'll bet you three pairs of Gucci loafers and a speedo  it's some kind of spit shined, two seater manufactured in a European borough that he has to roll out of.  Betcha another pair of loafers it's red with some catchy phrase on the license plate.

While we're on the subject of men's attire and what not, I should take time to mention that someone misnamed sunglasses because tons of guys wear them when there's no sun.  How about, desperately trying to look cool glasses?"

But, I digress.


So please, if any of you ever see me displaying any of the symptoms above, you'll know my faculties have vacated the premises.  And, you have my full permission....no, my exhortation to remind me of my own (these) words from long ago.

And please, if you ever catch me in a speedo, throw me a towel and call the ambulance immediately because the end will surely be near...

P.S.-another gym pet peeve:  prostate is a male gland that tends to enlarge over time.  Prostrate, however, is laying oneself down which I think sounds like a good idea right about now...