Despite my initial reluctance, my head nurse Tamara managed to drag me yesterday to Peet’s Coffee for a little coffee klatch in the sun.
It was my first public appearance since my surgery, and leaning on a cane I hauled myself to the terrace and carefully lowered my backside into a chair. I have always been fond of sitting outdoors, sizing up passersby and assessing the charms of the girls floating by.
Next to Peet’s, there is a fitness center patronized mainly by women and there is a continual procession of yoga panted girls prancing around. Since Adam and Eve, every girl has been taught that “if you have got it babe, you must flaunt it” and they dutifully abide by this dictum, more or less openly.
They pass you by seemingly unaware of you gaze, but a quick sideway glance always betray them. They furtively make sure that you look at them. I always oblige because if you don’t, you might hurt their self-esteem.
Contrarily to common belief you don’t die when you stop breathing. You cross the Great Divide when you lose interest in the opposite sex. And this is very reassuring to me because in spite of my temporary setback, I still like to watch girls.
The art of girl watching should be taught in school, because there is a right way and a wrong way to do it. To do this properly, your glance should operate like a radar beam. It should rotate slowly and steadily in order to cover a wide area. It should be an easy and natural scan, a little bit like a slow motion golf swing or a tennis backhand. It should be smooth and effortless.
But not everybody is blessed with this talent though. In spite of years of practice, some guys still fail to swing properly. Instead of a low intensity radar scan, they use a high pulse repetition frequency device that scares and drives off the lassies.
In an ideal world, everything should be done with flair and finesse. But to do so takes a lot of rehearsing and there is no better practice than to keep doing what comes naturally to a true blue metrosexual gentleman.
Why not show off if you’ve got something to show? January Jones
Alain
Since I left the hospital, I have been housebound and my only link with the outside world has been this remarkable gadget. Kate, my lady in waiting, is doing her best to coddle me but that’s not enough. She is a great caretaker, but like many pretty things, a little empty-headed. She can cuddle but she cannot cook or even fetch me my slippers.