ONLY A WOMAN WOULD KNOW

I go through my life not looking too closely for perfection, because my mother admitted to failure once and told me I wasn’t perfect.

Now I know you all can agree with dear Mom, but since then I decided that maybe no one IS perfect, so why bother looking for it in others.

I was watching a news interview before a NASCAR race where a professional driver was featured. He had to be on something since he was emphasizing with his hands rather excessively and dramatically as well. No, he wasn’t Italian, but could pass for one the way he was going at it.

“Wow, he sure is animated!” I said to TLW (The Little Woman).

“Hmm… Yes he is. That’s not even his real hair.”

“Huh! You mean you can tell that that is not his real hair!”

It’s true, she can tell those things where I don’t notice as she does. I think it is a woman thing, she can tell a dye job from 1.609344 kilometers away, as can all women. They take pride in their silent observations and then lay it on me to shock me. I feel dumb that they are so observant and I don’t even bother to look.

“Those aren’t real!”

Me: “Well she sure looks good in them!”

“Men!”

Hey, we don’t wear them, women do. But still, it took all the joy out of mammalian appreciation 101. Kind of makes me feel I wasted my time on imitation, non-perfection. I guess it proves that you shouldn’t spend too much time observing when you are me.

CLICK ON THEM AND THEY GET BIGGER!

Once years ago in Rockefeller Center, I was attending some outdoor show and this woman with the biggest rack I had ever seen was flaunting them in a tight black top. I took me by complete surprise, and my admiration for her profile was one of deep and lasting memory of her mammary. But once I noticed, she wouldn’t go away! No, I moved on to another exhibit, only to be blocked by her profile so to speak, time and time again!

Now I know no one will believe me, but I’m actually a leg-man, and am not usually impressed with a woman’s chest, but these were spectacular, and would love to have been impressed by them. I’m not a sex fiend or pervert, but I am human, and an artist, and if I had clay I would have sculpted them right then and there.

 Now TLW doesn’t get rattled by my enthusiasm when it comes to such things, and perhaps that takes the enthusiasm and squashes it before it builds to a mental crescendo, kind of a nip it in the bud strategy she employs.

So I learned years ago to not be obvious about it, saving me, her and the rack in question any embarrassment.

Discretion is the better part of valor? I know: I’m a pig?