A DIRTY MINDED MAN

The ideal day off (which tomorrow likely will be) starts with coffee or tea, followed by doing laundry. Now, you might not think that doing laundry would be part of the equation. It is, after all, an ideal day off.
But you would be wrong. Clean clothing, it has become apparent, is a great and wondrous good.

I would have done my laundry sooner -- much much sooner -- but I was being lazy. As a single man I really don't have to cater to the delicate sensitivities of girlies, and, as a middle aged man to boot, who the hell am I kidding?
Ladies, just be glad I don't sing at the bus stop.
And still step off the curb to light up.
I am considerate of your nose.
Which objects to men.


It's not that any of the clothes are unspeakable. But, having delayed so long, I'm not wearing the first-ranked players. Strictly not major leagues. Some of these items haven't seen light of day in a while, and the word "style plate" is not applicable. We're talking old soldiers in the reserves, creaky veterans, and venerable antiques.
Clean, but unmatched.
Like myself.

For the past week I haven't been wearing the 'please-seduce-me' garb, nor even the 'hey clean me up and take me home to mama' ranks. I'm scared at how well some of this stuff fits; I must have lost the excess poundage much earlier than I thought.

My baggies are indeed baggy; very nice.
I may have to buy a new belt, though.
At its tightest, this one is too loose.

Twixt collegiate, and wiry old git.

What we can conclude from this is that massive quantities of tea and chili peppers constitute the perfect diet for the middle-aged man. It keeps him trim, makes his hair and hide glossy, and his limbs and joints limber.
No, he won't go chasing after balls, young ladies, or buses -- running is SO undignified -- but nothing creaks, several parts are wiry, and there is a bounce to his step. Plus his clothes fit without any unsightly bumps or bulges.

I don't look like your father.

I look like your father's wicked co-worker.

Uncle Unsuitable, debonair with that devilish flair.

And for days now I look like I could use some fashion pointers.


GOOD AFTERNOON, LADIES!

Feel free to seduce me AFTER mid-morning tomorrow, if you see me.
Once I've got some clean front-line troops again, I'm changing.

May even put on my straw boater and the striped seersucker sportscoat, grab the Malacca cane, and go out promenading. Flaunting, so to speak.
Drape my rangy form over a cane chair, and have an ice tea.
Light up an expensive panatellas for a lazy smoke.
Shoe polish? A manicure?
Perhaps!

Despite the weather elsewhere in the country, here in San Francisco it is almost summer. Warmish, and balmy in early afternoon.
Your pervert uncle is ready for it, watch out.
Boulevarding is planned!
Yes.




Actually, to be completely honest, after doing my laundry I'm probably going to go down to Chinatown to have jook and a yau tiu on Stockton Street, then wander over to the quiet end of Tin Hau Miu Kai to smoke my pipe. One can hear birds and children from the playground behind the buildings, and observe buses and elderly aunties laboriously trundling uphill. Or, once finished, head over to Hang Fook for a beng and a hot cup of naaicha.
It's much more civilized than poncing around in seersucker.
Mellow Virginia flake instead of the panatella.
Restrained, and pensive.
Still wicked.



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