02 August, 2011

this whole thing about bums and rather smallish elephants

monday afternoon mister monkey dragged me to a mall on a small but significant quest. yup, the mister wanted to get hisself some swimming shorts unlike the gigantic voluminous ankle-length type seen on most young bucks out there. oh no, mister monkey wanted to get hisself some ass-huggery in the form of speedos. now, lest all y'all close your wee little piggy eyes and imagine this, that is not at all what he was after (i admit i also closed my wee little piggy eyes and imagined this*) i believe he was looking for something more like this (and aren't we all, girls? huh? huh? am i right? nudge, nudge, wink, wink (what?! every girl wants a cute gay friend!)).

exhausted and crushed by both the futility of our quest and the nearly palpable miasma of mall despair, we decided to get something to eat and headed for our second favourite ethiopian restaurant (our favourite having burned down recently). the sign was off but the door was open. we walked in: could they, would they feed us? no, they could not, would not, on account of ramadan said the guy behind the counter just as another guy came out of the kitchen with a plate piled high with sandwiches. um, happy ramadan...

we ended up eating at the local T&T supermarket where mister monkey was ousted out of his place in line by a minuscule old asian lady who apparently really wanted her steam bbq pork bun NOW. i do prefer impatient old people, though, (they get it: they get the shortness of the time allotted to them) to the ones who drive like all their tomorrows are spawning in the corner of the unwashed hamster cage of time.

and thus we spent the better part of heritage day long weekend monday: from the swaying steppes of ethiopia through the haunting highlands of china to the short shorts of europe, though not exactly in that order or geographical accuracy.

the rest of the day was taken up with elephant removal. you think i'm kidding, but i am not, however, in an effort to be mysterious and shit, i will leave it at that.

* not that mister monkey looks anything like that: it's just that we are neurologically hard-wired to see visions like that when we hear the word "speedo", it's inevitable.


Zhoen said...

I rather like the baggy trunks. I wear them myself (with a top bit added, I feel I must add.) But the speedos are better than the mankinis, so I count my blessings.


The old folks who rush and push are not doing it because life is short. They've always been pushy and entitled. The old folks who know the only way to make time last is through patience and kindness, are the ones savoring the last lick.

the polish chick said...

ah yes. patience and kindness... you've put me in my place, there, zhoen - both are virtues i'm trying to foster in myself, as i naturally tend towards impatience and judgmental anger, but then again you know that, having read my blog.

the polish chick said...

oh, and that link? VERY nice.

i think mister monkey finds the voluminous trunks uncomfortable during swimming. perhaps i shall suggest the mankini to him.

puncturedbicycle said...

A modest male friend of mine once joined me in the surf wearing his enormous knee-length frat-boy trunks and got the shock of his life when he realised that the water rendered them virtually transparent.

Be careful out there chaps.

Geneviève said...

Holy crap, that mankini is truly disturbing. But I do believe it would suit Mr. Monkey. Perhaps in hot pink.

Lucy said...

Well, Tom now feels validated in his impatient old githood anyway.

Why are all the mankinis lime green?