Monday, January 28, 2008

Riding in Cars with Boys

Me (in belligerent tones, glaring at some pedestrian who is giving me a dirty look for no reason in particular): Why you looking at me like that? Did I just call your mother an accurate name?


Woody Allen to pretty female sidekick in Scoop: Is there anything you achieved last night? Other than a possible pregnancy?


Woody Allen to housekeeper in house of possible murderer. He is purportedly looking for a sweater his "daughter" left behind.

Housekeeper: You couldn't find the sweater?
Woody: It could be in another bedroom. She has problems with promiscuity.


Which is what Mary and I were doing yesterday. Eating at Angel Cake House, relating Woody Allen anecdotes, and busting a gut, laughing up our Aglio Olio and what have you.

Although only the last anecdote is relevant. Because I wanted to share a little secret with you. I have problems with promiscuity. On Thursday there was one woman. On Sunday, another. And possibly next Saturday there will be a new one. I feel positively manhandled. Especially since nearly all these women are pretty rough. They claim it's good for me. So what was supposed to be relaxing, even pleasurable, turns into the rack.

Sway me smooth, sway me now...

I have to bite my lip to keep from screaming. And I don't mean that in a good way.

"Aiyo Miss, you got so many knotslar, so tension your back, look your shoulder so hard, look your muscle so tight lar...if I do, you pain, if I don't do, you not relaxed..."

Yes, I can see her problem.

But that doesn't make it easier to bear.

So I am walking around pretty sore.

Should I forsake the gym?


I just saw my picture in the papers and whatever I forsake (food, alcohol, cigarettes, LSD, any smidgen of self respect, meths, dexies, strange men in seedy motel rooms, strange women in seedier motel rooms, Wilkie Collins, the love of shop assistants) I will not forsake the gym!


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