Wednesday, May 24, 2006

Steamers, Beer, and Clothes

I went out the other night with some mates to The Chieftan Pub for some steamers and beer.

Now, it may be argued that a bucket of steamers is just about the finest appetizer ever crafted by God or Man -- it's like eating delicate tiny vulva dipped in butter. And washed down with cold ale, it's a slice of Heaven. But as these little minges made their way down my oesophagus, something happened that was to shake my faith in the way the universe works. Yeah -- my buddies started talking about clothes.

Now, these mates of mine aren't women. They're guys -- sports addicted, minge-loving guys. They smoke cigars, play darts, and subscribe to Maxim. They drive trucks and jeeps and down enough beers in the course of an evening to float a small battleship. And, apparantly, they also discuss clothes.

One of them was in the process of getting rid of old unused clothes and purchasing some new. Sure, it happens -- I've done it myself. Go down to the local Milton's, or T.J. Maxx, or EMS and grab some new duds cause the old are threadbare and have a few holes here and there. But I never discuss it with anyone.

These blokes started comparing price, and coloration, and stores where the best deals could be had. They kept discussing, but I had to tune it out. My face was getting red. Had I blundered unwittingly into some strange alternate reality? I was afraid one was going to start asking "do I look fat in these jeans?".

Maybe it's my hangup though.
I mean I'm no angel. I write poetry. I play the piano. When these same mates spend hours analyzing the upcoming NFL draft or complex player statistics I tend to drift off and think about books or Star Trek.

Maybe in this modern metrosexual world guys take pride in their appearance: pumice their elbows and heels, wax their chests, rub lotion and creams into their skin, and pick out matching towels and linens.

Still, clothes?


Road to the Isles said...

Are these mates of yours married? I sense a woman's influence on these burly, dirty men.

Viszlát Sjáumst said...

jeepers, creepers! he makes it sound as if we were comparing pedicures... it's all over-blown homophobia for the Sage, I believe. Based on the following actual comment, "These blokes started comparing price, and coloration, and stores where the best deals could be had." it appears to be much more of an economical discusion than anything close to "Metrosexual" ... that conjures up a whole different animal. Beauty Salon appointments for mud treatments, said pumicing of callouses, chest waxing, and an over-all love of one's own image over and above any other living thing.

therein lies the difference. talking about a good deal on some decent clothes is perfectly normal for us non-homophobics.

Live Long and Prosper, Sage.