BIG NAKED SALAD SPRITE

One of my friends always glowers at me during the weeks before and after the Bay to Breakers Race. He blames me for something, and though he actually realizes it was his own fault, I as the wise elder should have foreseen issues and forewarned him.
I have superior experience and sobriety. He doesn't.
Hmmph, it's NOT his problem!

It's his wife.

No, I had nothing to do with his spouse.

He bears all responsibility for his matrimonial situation too.

I don't even know her.


"I AM AN ELFIN MAN!"

Several years ago he gaily showed up a Saint Patrick's Day party "dressed" for the event.
Meaning that he was wearing a spiked hat, cute little booties, and a lime-coloured Speedo.
Nothing else.
Except for grease-paint. He was green all over.

He thought he was being both appropriate, and a leprechaun.

Given that he's a very large individual, well over six feet tall, that winsome self-image did not match popular perception. Many of us guessed instead that he was the famous spokesman for a frozen vegetable company, or doing a Brave Heart thing with green instead of blue.
Salesman for menthol kings? Cabbage head? Irish Springs Soap Guy?

Honestly, he did NOT look like a leprechaun, even with the sissy boots.

We suggested, if I remember correctly, that he belonged in Bay to Breakers with all the other randy exhibitionists, freaks, and weirdoes. In response to our taunting he threatened that indeed he would run in the race, painted exactly so.
Naked, like so many other bold men.
Of course he didn't, as taking part in that event necessitates getting up before dawn, and he likes to have a few on Saturday night.
But every year he swore that this time he would, yes!

A few years ago he nearly made it, too.
What bollixed the attempt is that he hadn't remembered that it takes time to apply greasepaint uniformly.
So I suggested to him that the next year, he should simply apply it the night before. That way he'd be ready to rumble from the moment he got up.
And I reminded him of it the week before the race. Volubly encouraged him.
Green grease-paint, dude. Rub it on thick!
I really wanted him to fulfill his potential as a large emerald nudist.
As I saw it, it would be the culmination of his manly development.

I told him that the colour was very flattering, especially with his husky build.
What I meant was that it hid the incipient flab (beer belly), but I didn't say that.

The Saturday beforehand I forcefully reiterated all my excellent suggestions and encouragement.
After a few more beers (which I paid for), he was psyched up and raring to go.
He went home to enthusiastically smear himself all over with viridian goo.


"DON'T TOUCH THE ART WORK!"

Later that night, when his wife woke up, she did NOT recognize the naked green drunk groping her titties, and screamed loud enough to wake the dead.
Long piercing hysterical yells, ending in a deep throaty gurgle when she started hyper-ventilating.

The neighbors called the cops.

The police couldn't recognize him either - he didn't look at all like his driver's license picture. It wasn't until he wiped off most of the muck that they grudgingly conceded that perhaps he was who he said he was, and indeed lived there.
I guess they didn't want him to stain their nice clean cop car, usually they'll handcuff the suspect and slam him into the backseat right away - they can always figure out which end is up at the station later.
They informed him that they did NOT want to know what he had tried to pull on his wife, but suggested that the next time he felt like doing that, he should call a therapist instead.
And stop playing weird sex games, you freak.

His wife didn't speak to him for over a week. The neighbors still weren't speaking to him two years later when they moved out. And he had to throw out the sheets, because the green grease paint had ruined them.

He blames me for talking him into this, even though he concedes that it originally was his idea. And he admits that trying to make love to his wife while painted green was a spur of the moment inspiration that I had absolutely nothing to do with.

Still, if I hadn't "pressured" him, NOTHING would've happened.

His wife wouldn't have had the fright of her life.

Neither his neighbors nor the cops would have seen him green and naked.

Apparently green hair-dye doesn't wash out easily either.

What made him really upset was that I had convinced him to go whole hog and dye his pubes.
It interfered with his love life for over a month.

For the past three years, he glowers at me when I sweetly ask whether this is the year he'll finally run in the race. Something rankles.
But he's still married, and his wife loves him again, so no harm done.
Right? Right!?!
I don't know what his problem is.


[A tube of Mehron Ogre Green only costs $2.95. Two tubes ought to do it. You could also add accents with grease crayons - a pack of six assorted colours is around eight bucks.]


Stop being a wuss and go for the gusto, dude.
You're only gonna live once.
Now is the time.


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