At twelve forty AM or there abouts I really should not be smoking my pipe in the teevee room. But it is subtle, and she will not wake. Which is good; my roommate does not know, or need to know, that since ten o'clock I have been thinking about the attractive attributes of some random feminine person in the bar.
I do that a lot. I may successfully pretend to be a gentleman. But I'm still a dirty old man. As I have been since my teenage years.
The young lady in the bar was trilingual.
Which is ever so ... hot.
Trilinguality.
On the other hand, this queer mixture of Irish flake and sweet ribbon Virginia is also "smoking". And though I may be rancid, I am also a realist. My pipe will keep me happy, whereas the talented trilingualist will likely fall for a hairy savage half my age.
As indeed they always do.
I remember the young ladies at the noodle restaurant.
And acknowledge that I am not their type.
Original troglodyte.
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Often while at work I get to hear the sour old dingbats in the backroom spouting Republican drivel and venom. Which does not leave me positi...
3 comments:
Why would you want to adulterate Irish Flake?
Because it takes me nearly a year to finish a tin o Irish Flake straight. It's good, but it just isn't that compelling.
If it takes you that long, you are not doing it right.
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