Frida’s Wandering Thoughts

“What did you do?” my wife asked.

Sixteen million slapdash responses plied my mental waters. I decided that caution should be employed. “About what?”

“Your face.”

I felt like I’d walk in on a conversation already in progress. We were the only people present. My wife definitely meant me.

“What do you mean?” I checked a nearby mirror. “I look gorgeous.”

“Your mustache looks wrong.”

“How?” My mustache looked perfect. Well, as close to perfect as I can get it. Let’s not dive too deeply into those waters.

“One side is different than the other.”

“How?”

“It’s just different. They’re not the same. Look in the mirror.”

“I did. It looks fine.”

My really good mood soured, I went to the coffee shop.

A good friend was the barista on duty. I asked her, “How does my face look?”

Eyebrows quirking up into questioning arcs, she looked at me. Shrugged. “Same as always. Why?”

I told her what my wife claimed. She studied me. “I don’t see that. You’re very well groomed. You always are.”

“Thank you.”

Arriving home later, I carefully watched my wife. I was worried. She’d obviously been replaced by a robot, cyborg, or alien. Robot with AI made the most sense. A lot of AI is not all it’s cracked up to be.

What I will need to do is observe her and develop a series of test questions to verify my wife’s identity. I mean, trust but verify, right?

Especially in this messed up Age of Trump.

Saturday’s Wandering Thoughts

I was in my primary coffee shop yesterday, writing away in a corner and deeply involved with what I was doing. Even with that true, I’d followed who arrived and left, where they were and what they were doing. It was a habit or talent I’d developed while young. It’d become bolstered first by military counter-terrorist training and situational awareness, and then fostered more as I leaned in to writing fiction and honed my observational skills.

Left was a man who seemed about five years older than me, putting him in his early seventies. He was a regular at both of my coffee haunts. Striking me as a lonely person, I’d witnessed him start conversations with others. When I overheard them, the topic was usually novels he’d read or novels the other was reading.

Rising from the chair he’d settled into, he approached the early twentyish woman on my right. Another regular but not as frequent as me, she was familiar to me. I’d seen the other man talk to her a few times. He greeted her as a friend and she reacted in kind. They began talking about books and his recent visit to a bookstore.

The coffee house manager went to them. I didn’t hear what was being said, but it ended with her escorting him out. After he was gone, I saw the shift lead go talk to the manager. Again, nothing was heard. The shift lead returned to her spot behind the counter, and then the manager approached the young woman the man had been talking with.

After giving her name and explaining her position, the manager asked, “Do you know that man?”

“No, not really. He’s spoken to me before.”

“Well, I came over because we’ve had complaints about men approaching young women such as yourself without being invited. Some feel threatened and believe that the man was trying to groom them or other young women, so we felt we needed to act.”

The woman thanked her and the manager went away.

I sat, reflecting on all sides of this, wondering exactly what was true and real, respecting the coffee shop’s position but understanding the man’s loneliness. Yet, I didn’t know if he was grooming. I don’t know his intentions. And then, there are other men who may have approached young females to groom them. It can be an insidious world.

I mentioned it all to my wife, who reminded me, “Woman are often socialized to be friendly when a man approaches. It’s hard for them to say no to them or rebuff them. That’s just how we’re still taught through movies and television shows, and the things we see. Men are in power and are to be respected is what we’re taught, and it’s hard to break the habits that come from that training.

I understand that, too, and thought of my own position when I go into the coffee shop to write. I’m friendly with staff but not other customers. While I want to be friendly with others, my natural inclination, I decided that I need to not be friendly with other regulars; I’m there to write, and the time that I’ve carved out for that is precious. Despite observing so many who seem desperate or hungry for social interations, I do so with regret but remain firm about it.

We’ve followed long and tortured paths to come to these moments of who we are.

Flooming

Flooming (floofinition) – Animal’s washing of a human to show their pleasure.

In use: “Whenever Jade began flooming Carrie, she began with Carrie’s hair. Always interested in being part of whatever was going on, Honey the Beagle would join the flooming, eagerly washing Carrie’s face as Jade started on her arms.”

Manscaping News

I spread the good news to my friends. “Hey, the local WalMart supposedly has the latest manscaping products in stock, and it’s supposed to be the best!”

They, twelve retired professionals ranging in age from sixty to eighty-five, responded.

“What?”

“WalMart!”

“Manscaping.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

I was not put off. I’d already talked to them about anal bleaching. They often overlook these fine points of pop-culture. I’m the chosen one to educate them.

Many immediately said, “We don’t shape at WalMart.”

I said, “You might need to change your ways, if you want the latest manscaping products suitable for urbane gents such as as yourselves.”

Bill laughed. “Manscaping! I don’t have the eyesight for that kind of thing. I’d be afraid of what I’m clipping.”

“Get your wife to help you,” I suggested. “You can make it a romantic evening.”

“A romantic evening of manscaping?” Joe asked.

“Yes. Light some candles and have a few glasses of wine, and then strip down, lay back on the bed, and let her groom you.”

Bill roared. “That’d be a bloody mess. Her eyesight is worse than me.”

Andy nodded. “Enough said. No one sees me naked and I’m not interested in landscaping myself just for the joy of it.”

“Someone change the subject,” Chris said.

“Hey,” I said, “did you hear about the new waxing place in town, just for men?”

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