A MAN WITH FOUR NIPPLES

Michael, whose surname I do not know because it is an unpronounceable monosyllable, is a complete gentleman. When the elderly roue wannabee came in with two young Caucasian girlie-twits, and that big crime-boss swagger plus the boorishness which goes with crude arrogance, Michael played along, obviously realizing that the two female visitors were having an adventure and seeing a side of something exotic that they would not have had a chance to observe otherwise.

So he played liars dice with the old fart, acted expansive and hospitable, gently talked the owner of the bar down from her ire at the old geezer and the tarts, and persuaded the two young ladies to step outside for a few tokes of a joint, while the fossil was in the crapper.

He's also a diplomat. The girls probably got a much better impression of the Chinese from Michael than from the doddering squire. Though he did try to get the two white guys in the bar to move in and talk to them.
The bookseller and I demurred.
Not regretfully.

醉傻女

In brief curt answer to the loudest and silliest of the two, "yes I am smiling, in fact I'm downright giddy with glee, ecstatic as all git-out, pistachios are among our favourite foods, we're happy as a pair of goofy clams oh boy, and ngoh m-seung tong ney kong-ge, soh neui, ney chwey mau."

In truth, I'm okay with pistachios.
As well as sand-roasted peanuts.


The bookseller and myself left at an opportune moment. Which, purely coincidentally, was when the person who had sung saccharine Mandarin ballads to the karaoke machine was pinching the silly one's right nipple. Which she may or may not have encouraged, advertently or otherwise.


I firmly believe that nipples, of either side or both, should only be pinched in private, not in public. I cannot conceive of a situation where it's okay to do so when there are more than just the pinchee and the pincher present.
If it is done, it should be done with a feather-like touch.
A nipple is not a light switch.




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