My grandfather has a saying, loosely translated and paraphrased it goes,
"...is it our fault, really, that God made our male blood-line so handsome to the ladies?".
This is usually followed by various objects flying through the air directed at the old goat and any other hapless male-types that just happen to be in the vicinity. Pro-Baseball players and combat vets flinging grenades ain't got nuthin' on ticked-off tías, by the way. For the record, I wasn't snickering, I was lamenting the fact that the old man was so set in his ways and I was planning to light a few extra candles for him after helping the nuns at the orphanage...or something. My personal favorite, though is
(while hitching up the pants by the belt) "Yeah, yeah, she wants me."
*remember to duck the flying objects*
Be careful you wish for...
Now before anyone gets the wrong idea, we're not all that bad...er...all the time. Some of us do go out of our way to be helpful, in whatever way that we can. For example, after a long day at work, I don't particularly mind helping the slightly eccentric neighborhood cat lady look for her lost 'Fluffy'. I wasn't put in too terribly foul of a mood by traipsing through the muddy ditches with a weak flashlight. What did kind of irk me however, was when I found out that said schnookums was about my age, and without that pet year/age conversion, neither! I idly wondered to myself if the cat could still walk, let alone get out of the house for a night of carousing with the wildlife.
Cat, the other, other white meat...
After another fruitless search and when my flashlights batteries finally went dead, I returned to her driveway to report in, so to speak. Despite me not having any pets, I kind of felt bad for her. I really did want to help her figure out where the cat was. After further discussion, it came about that the last time that she had seen the little kitty was two weeks ago, in the garage...before she left for vacation. Said garage was packed to the gills with the various collections of a life time of collecting...stuff, and did not look like an easy task.
At one point during my search, she had gone inside and changed clothes. Not a huge deal, I'm getting mud all over my work clothes, and she changed into some sort of robe-looking thing, but hey, she's a little older, probably deserves the opportunity to get comfy however she can. This would only give me the slightest in PM ammo (pissing and moaning), not really anything to get too worked up about.
What did get me worked up, and not in the good way, were the gusts of wind.
Apparently, once you get to a certain age, button repair on the ole bathrobe/mumu/whatever that thing is called kind of lowers in the priority chain. I might even overlook stepping out in public with the thing on, being as she was somewhat distraught over the lost cat. The lack of panties however, is totally unforgivable.
blurf!
"...is it our fault, really, that God made our male blood-line so handsome to the ladies?".
This is usually followed by various objects flying through the air directed at the old goat and any other hapless male-types that just happen to be in the vicinity. Pro-Baseball players and combat vets flinging grenades ain't got nuthin' on ticked-off tías, by the way. For the record, I wasn't snickering, I was lamenting the fact that the old man was so set in his ways and I was planning to light a few extra candles for him after helping the nuns at the orphanage...or something. My personal favorite, though is
(while hitching up the pants by the belt) "Yeah, yeah, she wants me."
*remember to duck the flying objects*
Be careful you wish for...
Now before anyone gets the wrong idea, we're not all that bad...er...all the time. Some of us do go out of our way to be helpful, in whatever way that we can. For example, after a long day at work, I don't particularly mind helping the slightly eccentric neighborhood cat lady look for her lost 'Fluffy'. I wasn't put in too terribly foul of a mood by traipsing through the muddy ditches with a weak flashlight. What did kind of irk me however, was when I found out that said schnookums was about my age, and without that pet year/age conversion, neither! I idly wondered to myself if the cat could still walk, let alone get out of the house for a night of carousing with the wildlife.
Cat, the other, other white meat...
After another fruitless search and when my flashlights batteries finally went dead, I returned to her driveway to report in, so to speak. Despite me not having any pets, I kind of felt bad for her. I really did want to help her figure out where the cat was. After further discussion, it came about that the last time that she had seen the little kitty was two weeks ago, in the garage...before she left for vacation. Said garage was packed to the gills with the various collections of a life time of collecting...stuff, and did not look like an easy task.
At one point during my search, she had gone inside and changed clothes. Not a huge deal, I'm getting mud all over my work clothes, and she changed into some sort of robe-looking thing, but hey, she's a little older, probably deserves the opportunity to get comfy however she can. This would only give me the slightest in PM ammo (pissing and moaning), not really anything to get too worked up about.
What did get me worked up, and not in the good way, were the gusts of wind.
Apparently, once you get to a certain age, button repair on the ole bathrobe/mumu/whatever that thing is called kind of lowers in the priority chain. I might even overlook stepping out in public with the thing on, being as she was somewhat distraught over the lost cat. The lack of panties however, is totally unforgivable.
blurf!
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