This past weekend, yours truly had planned to imbibe with a certain SWM who claimed to “look good in tights.” We first became aware of one another on a lovely website known as Craigslist. I found a nice bookshelf there, as well as some festive hats for my feline companion, Dr. Faustus.
Mr. Tights and I had a short electronic epistolary exchange, including pics, and agreed to meet. At the risk of exposing his identity, I would say that he looked much like a certain Charles V, pictured below:
Now, I’m quite certain that Mr. Tights had some sort of awful accident because when I arrived at our rendezvous spot, he was no where to be found. Instead, I encountered a gaggle of giggling and thoroughly uninteresting sallow skinned teenage girls. I guess it's true what they say in every century: Men are jerks. And, teens love bad fiction and action movies.
If only more men were like my cubical companion, Zack Paddington the apple cheeked youth, though years below me in age is my mentor, my colleague, my guide to the 21st century and the modern world of publishing. So thoroughly practical and consistent, I know he would never stand me up for a chance meeting, if he were ever into such a chance. Unfortunately, he seems a eunuch or rather quite thoroughly engaged to his work.
Sigh, Dear Reader, it is of no use for me to think of it. I have vowed to withhold my rakish tendencies in his presence so that I may learn as much as possible while I dwell in this time.
I must be off, as Faustus and I have a date with Netflix. If I cannot have a real to life man in tights at least I can have Sir Kevin Costner, Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves.
Best regards = XOXOXO
Sir William Shakespeare
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