My Aspergers’ nature causes me to border on brutal honesty when people ask my opinion.
Especially about clothes.
An effect doubled after a bottle of Macon and a couple of smokes.
Most have learned to ask me if they actually want to hear the truth.
The rest get it anyway!
Although, my word is never believed.
I either answer too quickly and therefore have ‘not looked or concentrated’ which means I am, ’no help’.
Or I pay too much attention and go in to too much detail, therefore I am ’taking the piss’ which means I am, ‘no help’.
I couldn’t give a flying fuck what anyone’s wearing until my attention is drawn to it.
The question I dread is,
“What do you think about these shoes, with this dress?”
Or the equally tricky sister question,
“Ok. Wait.. What about these?”
I swear, these are two of the few questions that make my mind go blank.
Nothing.
I think NOTHING about those shoes.
To tell the truth, I don’t really understand the question in the first place!
One of the Housemates has had to organise and deliver part of a conference to health workers tomorrow. Doctors, Nurses etc.
Obviously, they want to look their best.
This evening we have had the interminable fashion and shoe show. With a selected silk scarf and stockings sidebar.
Now, I know that usually the mention, even the thought of stockings can bring out the priapic pubescent in me.
Tonight that died.
When they are represented by similarly coloured ‘pop sox’ some of the mystery is lost forever.
Stockings are sublime. Tights are wrong.
‘Tights’ that only come to the knee are an offence against nature.
Stockings offer promise.
The guarantee that at the top, there are the 6 softest inches of skin in the world. Especially after your fingertips have being left tingling from the denier of the stockings and are slightly numb, but I digress…..
Ruined by the sentence,
“The stockings will be this colour and of course I will have shaved my legs by then!”
Too much!
Like those freaky ‘old lady’ shoes that curl up like poked woodlice when they take them off.
They were the preferred footwear of old ladies with bunions.
Not sure if they still make them.
For some reason they horrified me as a kid.
Pop sox have now joined that list.
5 comments:
Actually you have hit upon two items of deep unsexiness. The unshaven leg and pop sox. I am guilty of mixing both I am ashamed to say. I'll repent and do penance with the stockings. But with my cellulite and crap legs I'd def look like a sausage in a fishnet.
You are going to have to leave that image with me for a moment!................
This is why EVERY household needs a gay man. There just aren't enough of them to go round.
I lived with a gay man once.
Never again.
Mine lacked the essential neatness and quiche making skills, I believed, inherent in your homosexual male.
He had to go.
But you are right schnee, they are worth their weight in lubricant for occasions such as these.
Y'see I thought that there was a gay initiation ceremony for gay men which consisted of achieving a certain standard of proficiency in quiche making, house cleaning and being able to go 'it's so YOU!' in an appropriately camp way. I obviously got that one wrong...
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