Realistic Tears
It's not so much that I really love old, white 'fro haired, pink and glittering Cape May New Jersey sweatshirted and smelling of cinnamon and Old Spice old grandmom ladies, it's that old, white 'fro haired, pink and glittering Cape May New Jersey sweatshirted and smelling of cinnamon and Old Spice old grandmom ladies really love me back. They honestly cannot get enough of me. It's amazing. Two examples:
Example 1) We'll call her GRANDMOM MARGARET. She used to work in the same building as me. Her husband had a lot of money and she was heavily into The Phantom of the Opera and ABBA and Germany and, when I'd visit her home (not entirely unheard of), she would walk me around her garden, which stretched around the house and included all these rare, exotic plants that she smuggled from distant, foreign lands (I kid you not), and she'd tell me about the plants and get excited and, trust me, I would be thoroughly engaged, and I would ask about a plant, and smell another, and life would be good. Then she'd make me lemonade and we'd listen to NPR. She always tried to set me up with her daughter, who, as of now, I have still not met.
And it goes without saying that GRANDMOM MARGARET liked me. A lot. Last Christmas she gave me a metal candle holder with a white candle and told me if I put it in my bathroom I'd get all the ladies. Then, when her daughter got sick, she put me in charge of housesitting for her house. And her dog, which was worth more than most everything I own, did not like me, and would not come inside when I screamed, and I had to pick the thing up and carry it inside and, seeing as how it was a show dog and of better genes than myself, I was worried I might break it, and then be killed.
Example 2) We'll call them THE WOMEN'S AUXILIARY GROUP. There are hundreds, possibly thousands, of these women, and they rule. They're all really old and fond of shiny pink sweatshirts and candy and they're a social club, so they do trips to see plays and historical monuments and the like, so it's not odd that I find myself giving a tour, with a mass of WOMEN'S AUXILIARY GROUP ladies behind me, giggling and telling secrets, and they are the most fun to give tours to.
They always have pictures of granddaughters in their purses and these are pulled out early in the game, and shown to me proudly, and THE WOMEN'S AUXILIARY GROUP says, "You're about the same age as my granddaughter here. Her name's Molly. It's funny, but she lives right here, in town, close to you. Isn't she pretty?" and I smile and say "yes" and tell them that I'm nothing but trouble and bad news, but they don't care, they want me all over their granddaughters. Always.
And then I give more tour and they're interested but mostly giggly and amused by everything and they want to get pictures with me, because, you know, that's how it is, and sometimes one of them squeezes my ass, which is fine. I don't mind. They're always laughing and smiling and they never want the tour to end, because that means they have to walk up two flights of stairs, which tends to be seriously disturbing to most of them.
Example 1) We'll call her GRANDMOM MARGARET. She used to work in the same building as me. Her husband had a lot of money and she was heavily into The Phantom of the Opera and ABBA and Germany and, when I'd visit her home (not entirely unheard of), she would walk me around her garden, which stretched around the house and included all these rare, exotic plants that she smuggled from distant, foreign lands (I kid you not), and she'd tell me about the plants and get excited and, trust me, I would be thoroughly engaged, and I would ask about a plant, and smell another, and life would be good. Then she'd make me lemonade and we'd listen to NPR. She always tried to set me up with her daughter, who, as of now, I have still not met.
And it goes without saying that GRANDMOM MARGARET liked me. A lot. Last Christmas she gave me a metal candle holder with a white candle and told me if I put it in my bathroom I'd get all the ladies. Then, when her daughter got sick, she put me in charge of housesitting for her house. And her dog, which was worth more than most everything I own, did not like me, and would not come inside when I screamed, and I had to pick the thing up and carry it inside and, seeing as how it was a show dog and of better genes than myself, I was worried I might break it, and then be killed.
Example 2) We'll call them THE WOMEN'S AUXILIARY GROUP. There are hundreds, possibly thousands, of these women, and they rule. They're all really old and fond of shiny pink sweatshirts and candy and they're a social club, so they do trips to see plays and historical monuments and the like, so it's not odd that I find myself giving a tour, with a mass of WOMEN'S AUXILIARY GROUP ladies behind me, giggling and telling secrets, and they are the most fun to give tours to.
They always have pictures of granddaughters in their purses and these are pulled out early in the game, and shown to me proudly, and THE WOMEN'S AUXILIARY GROUP says, "You're about the same age as my granddaughter here. Her name's Molly. It's funny, but she lives right here, in town, close to you. Isn't she pretty?" and I smile and say "yes" and tell them that I'm nothing but trouble and bad news, but they don't care, they want me all over their granddaughters. Always.
And then I give more tour and they're interested but mostly giggly and amused by everything and they want to get pictures with me, because, you know, that's how it is, and sometimes one of them squeezes my ass, which is fine. I don't mind. They're always laughing and smiling and they never want the tour to end, because that means they have to walk up two flights of stairs, which tends to be seriously disturbing to most of them.
posted by Ryan at 11:52
2 Comments:
Old men are weird too. (Yes, I'll be the one talk about the men: I'm not afraid of teh ghey.)
They like to talk about the weather, and the past, and, sometimes war or sports (or both). They sometimes know really well how to fix things. And they don't smell as weird as old women.
Old men everywhere: a hearty hat tip to you!
You know what tends to be seriously disturbing to me? Ryan's occasional discourse on old ladies and their roaming, ass-grabbing hands. (Though as mentioned in another post somewhere in cyberspace, I too am qualified to grab ass - Wait a minute? Are these women qualified to be grabbing cheeks? Next time they fondle your fanny, you need to demand their card. It should look something like this.)
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