TYROSINE

Like most men, I am flaberghasted when I see a cat fight. "How do these women define friendship?" I will ask (rhetorically), and the answer comes in a whisper: "it means not using weapons". Nor committing slaughter. Most men seldom, if ever, get to watch women do battle.

Which is a darn good thing. We'd be disillusioned if we did. We still have this image of women as being the kinder gentler sex, quite ridiculously in contrast with the reality that women are some of the most vicious brutes on the planet. It's that über-competitiveness; men lack it entirely.

Probably a thyroid imbalance.

Not all women, though.

Some are sane.

*      *      *

Wow, ladies! Menus should NEVER be used that way! Neither, for that matter, should the word 'whore' be flung out so casually; it's only proper place is in politics. One rather expects such a lack of gallantry and manners in Washington or Sacramento, not in a Chinese Restaurant.

Well, perhaps a Chinese Restaurant out in the suburbs.

Some place like Folsom or Oakland.

Savage pit-bogs.


Anyhow, along with dinner, I got a free show.
I betcha shoes were the cause of this.

Jimmy Choo?

Chinese Restaurants are far too cautious about calling the cops. There's something about admitting that you don't know how to handle the situation that seems shameful, and surely almost anything can and should be expected from the regrettably non-Chinese anyhow?


I think these ladies were from back east. New Jersey or New York.
Those horrid heathen accents are hard to keep apart.
As, indeed, were the two women.




Still, kudos to the boss-lady of the restaurant. "HEY! YOU! STOP EAT FOOD NOW! IT GETTING COLD!" Subtext: "please continue killing each other afterward, when you've finished the food, paid the bill, tipped, and left my business".

Of course they ignored her. Each one of them outweighed her by a good thirty pounds. I'm fairly certain that they also outweighed me, but I've never tried to heft blonde women, so I don't know.
They look quite unmanageable.

One of the women stormed out screaming, closely followed by the other. The man who was with them hurriedly paid the bill, then went out after them.

I don't know what they did to each other next. I'm sorry, I didn't follow them. I'm not crazy, I shall not abandon my dinner just because two large women want to wallop each other and have now galumphed out of sight. Besides, there were little girls in the restaurant, so I'm certain my Hello Kitty backpack would be gone by the time I returned from the fight.
That Hello Kitty backpack contains my paraphernalia.
Five pipes, including a Dunhill Rootbriar.
Liverpool shape. Sweet smoke.
Plus three tobaccos.
Tampers.

A little girl could not possibly appreciate the fine pipes and tobacco. She'd just kip it all into the garbage, and then claim "I found it; it's mine!"
If she had an aunt with good taste, maybe there's a chance.
Pipes are aesthetic, and fun to fondle.


One must have sound priorities. No matter how interesting the spectacle of two big blonde twizzle-heads clobbering each other, always, ALWAYS, be careful around little girls.


Oh, and big blonde women armed with menus too, but that almost goes without saying.



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