Au Cochonnet Marin

I did it!
Today I added another checkmark to my “f*ckit” list.
You know, that mythical checklist where you write down the 10000 (?) things that you want to do before you die.

I also discovered that it is women’s closely guarded secret. I believe that in their youth they took a blood oath to never talk about this subject in front of men.
And as far as I know, no man seems to be aware how deliciously relaxing it is to have you feet pampered and pleasured.
Or maybe they know about it but find it too “unmanly”.

Big mistake my fellow jocks. Huge mistake.

There were about 8-10 customers (all women) in the salon when I came in.
At first, I felt a little self-conscious being stared at, but the feeling quickly subsided after my feet were soaked in a small whirlpool tub and massaged by rotating jets.

It was upon my wife’s urging that I decided to treat myself and leave the tedious job of toenails trimming to somebody else.
My somebody else turned out to be a small Asian woman. As a matter of fact, all the 7 employees of the salon were Asian. Vietnamese I believe.

Very few words were exchanged between my pedicurist and myself during that session. I am still wondering if the woman taking care of my piggly wigglys even spoke English.
So we didn’t speak. She just pulled and pushed my feet up and down or laterally whenever needed.

But speaking she did. In a very low monotonous voice. First I thought that she was praying but I then discovered that she was talking to the pedicurist working next to us.
What were they talking about? My sexy virginal feet? Mystère et boule de gomme!

My only quibble about this séance was that it lacked a little bit of warmth. It was a little bit too impersonal.
Had it been a French woman doing the job, we would have flirted and talked about “la pluie et le beau temps”
But Asian women don’t banter. It is not in their genes.

Otherwise, I cannot find fault with anything. I refused the pink toe nail polish even though it was not specifically offered to me.
I am willing to take some liberties with my masculinity, but I am not (yet – Hello Caitlyn) willing to go that far.

Enjoying my newly buffed toes.

Alain

That’s what I wish for.
I want my final coming going out party to be hassle free. To go as planned.

Unfortunately, the Right-to-die bill was recently abandoned in California.
A crying shame and a big mistake! Because no matter what (just like the same sex marriage) this initiative will ultimately prevail.

As you are getting older, once in a while the thought of death crosses your mind.
Death by itself is not scary. It is the circumstances surrounding this event that can make you a little apprehensive.

Life is made of a multitude of small pleasures, but little by little, as you advance in age, these pleasures are slowly taken away from you.
You libido has gone AWOL, you cannot eat or drink what you like anymore, you don’t move as easily as you used to, you cannot drive… you are slowly morphing into a relic.
You become pitifully dependent on other people.
That’s not my cup of tea. By a long shotl.

Comes a day when there is no pleasure left and life becomes absolutely tedious, not worth living. I am not patient enough to put up with this.

That’s why I claim the right to die. On my own terms.
Because whose life is it anyway?
My life is my own (not belonging to my relatives, my doctors or the Church) and I should be able to dispose of it as I see fit.

If one day I get tired of living, I want to have the option to depart of my own free will.
After all, as the song says “it’s my party and I’ll cry die if I want to.”
I don’t want to become something  kept artificially alive  just for the sake of lasting a few more days, a few more months, or a few more years.
I am not on this earth to beat records.
What counts for me  is the quality of life. No quality, no life.

I have always hated long goodbyes. When I make up my mind, I go.
So when I decide to close shop, I want to go quickly.

“I don’t believe in an after life, although I am bringing a change of underwear.”
Woody Allen

I want my final curtain call to be deliberate and well orchestrated.

And by the way, if you don’t agree with this (many regrettably don’t), do not prevent others from doing what they see fit.

I urge the public and especially the lawmakers to reconsider this terrible injustice.

Alain

PS: When I go, I’ll take my cell phone with me. Just in case… even though I am well aware that:

“For days after death hair and fingernails continue to grow, but phone calls taper off.”
Johnny Carson

And I wouldn’t mind funeral strippers either!

Blacks, Asians, Hispanics, Christians, Jews, Moslems, gays, transgenders, Republicans, handicapped, gun lovers, dog lovers, vegans, witches, ecologists, motorcyclists, feminists, nudists, bassoonists…
Everybody wants recognition and of course special treatment.
Blimey, what is the world coming to?

When I was growing up, there was no such a thing.
We only had capitalists and communists.
Life was much simpler (and blatantly unfair).

But by trying to please everybody, you most likely won’t please anybody.
Soon, like a pride of lions fighting for a piece of zebra, there is going to be nothing left to share but the zebra’s stripes.
Like Greece.

With presidential elections looming on the horizon, candidates of all shapes and forms are also vying for attention.
In my unqualified opinion, the ideal candidate would have to be black, gay, Jewish, handicapped, vegan, belonging to the NRA, and a bassoonist to boot.

Bernie, Hillary, Jeb… are you listening? Do you belong to any oppressed minority? Persecuted millionaires maybe…

But could a guy with Bernie as a first name be nominated to be president?
President Bernie Sanders?
It doesn’t sound very presidential.
Bernie, a word of advice: switch back to Bernard, and we will talk again.

What about Jeb? What kind of name is this anyway? Is it a shortcut for Jebediah (beloved of Yahweh)? No. I just learned that JEB stands for John Ellis Bush.
Isn’t this clever? Everybody tries to emulate JFK.
Jeb still sounds very hillbillish to me. Do we want a Jed Clampett in the Casa Blanca?
Not particularly.

Where, oh where can we find the ideal candidate?
Or can we manufacture one? It has been done before…

What about Rachel Dolezal, the former head of the Spokane NAACP? On top of being black, is she also gay, Jewish, vegan, handicapped? If she is not, it is not too late to become one of those.
To a valiant heart nothing is impossible.

But my point is that we cannot please everybody, so hell with diversity and politically correct stuff.
May the best (regardless of color, gender, religion or sexual orientation) win and lead us to the Promised Land.

If the best happens to be Hispanic, gay or Mormon, I don’t care.
I want the finest the nation can offer for president. Not somebody propped by special interests or by family ties.

Am I just another whining baby?

Alain