NO MORE VOLLEYBALL

When I stepped out briefly yesterday evening the fog had come in. Very lovely. Especially when remembering that several people I know are sweltering, and lyrically bitching about the heat in their parts of the country. Where, at this time of year, no one in their right minds lives, reason being that it's too hot there.

Why, you can't even barbecue, given that if the neighbors see you nekkid they might languidly call the cops on you.

TOP OF THE HILL, THREE BLOCKS AWAY

With a little bit of luck we'll have nice weather (foggy) till the end of Indian Summer, and won't ever have to break out the shorts. Trust me, you don't want to see me in shorts.


Years ago, the Glynn sisters, who were from Ireland and charming, very enthusiastically persuaded me to wear shorts for an interdepartmental volleyball game in the sandy area beyond the parking lot the next day.
Turns out I was the only person doing so. They stayed on the sidelines and didn't participate, and waxed cheerfully eloquent about my appearance.

What especially pleased them was the combo of socks and shoes under the shorts.
Precisely like a British tourist at the Costa Del Sol.
Yes, I also had a buttoned shirt on.
Black socks. Topsiders.

Since then I don't do shorts.


Team sports of any type ... nope.



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