It may surprise some readers that out here in San Francisco (California) we are NOT suffering from any particular frigid discomforts. Nay, it is warm. Aestival, and balmy. There have even been times in the past few days that I have merrily skipped and swanned around the apartment entirely unclothed, with windows wide open.
Ooh, comfortable!
I feel free!
Please note: I had opened all the windows because I was smoking a pipe -- my apartment mate does NOT like the odour of Turkish and Latakia tobaccos perfuming the living quarters when she returns in the evening, remarkably -- and the nudity was both because I had recently exited the chamber of ablution all moist and glistening, and because I could; it's a celebration of all things non-Eastcoastal to be warm and naked and free, here on the sunny and temperate Westcoast.
The hallway mirror tells me I'm strapping.
I share that datum incidentally.
It's a lagniappe.
Nevertheless, I feel for my compatriots suffering the frigid agony and indigestion that a little snow brings. Out there back east.
Where the stress is mounting.
Chilblains! Y'all got chilblains, what?
SUFFERING SUCCOTASH!
[SOURCE: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L8dr7fgrklM#t=43.]
My piles bleed for you.
It's gotta be, like, totally (!) bad.
All that hot chocolate!
The first day or two were probably nice, but by now you are sick and tired of it. And your woolen longjohns are starting to chafe. I know how you feel.
"Six unattended corpses and a man tearfully eating a dog..."
Today I am NOT nude. In a couple of hours I shall head out to work, in Marin, where I shall bask in the sunlight and frolic. You know, I've never been happier for that, but observing the Snowpocalypse that is the fate of folks in other places, I rejoice.
I would be nude. But there might be frowns if that were the case. Even in tropical Marin County, they look askance at an absence of grass skirts. A middle-aged man disporting himself with a pipe and nary a scrap might have parasol beverages thrown at him. Lime juice and coconut water sting, you know.
I'm never nude for longer than a few minutes on weekends either, as my schedule would not permit, even if my apartment mate weren't home on those days. It's very sad.
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HAPPINESS IS WARM BODY CHEMISTRY
It was an enjoyable late lunch. And it included tofu, so the imaginary vegetarian would have been happy, as well as meat, so the very real c...
2 comments:
Snarky bugger.
Real men do not gad about naked whilst smoking Clan and admiring themselves in the mirror.
Real men shovel snow several feet deep.
Real men hack away at ice dams and icicles bigger than they are.
Real mean carry several cords of firewood in howling blizzards and subzero temperatures.
Real men do not live in whingeing, self-absorbed, double soy milk latte sipping, tofu braising. earth mother channeling San Francisco.
M
I shall share that sentiment with members of the Golden Gate Pipe Club.
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