Item #1: Dave and I have precious few common passions, but our most distinct link is the fact that we both love baseball/softball, and are both good at it. Some of our first dates, back last summer on good days we both had free, were spent at Whetstone Park throwing around a ball. He'd showoff how hard and far he could throw, and, feeling nude and frail without my lobtser-like catching gear, I would dodge anything that outstripped a passing butterfly. We are both very comfortable with each other, and ourselves, when passing time in such a way. I still remember the charming state of his rumpled clothes after an hour of catch, how I payed that much more attention to his physique as we passed the time in such a way.
In a chance act of fate, Dave got off early on a Saturday evening, so my dad invited him to come along with his kids to the batting cages. Ladies and gentlemen, the boy is irrefutably charming during a casual throw-around of the ball, but he's an absolute STUD at bat. I was raised to the sound of the Indians on the car radio every summer, the sight of Chief Wahoo and his boys as soon as my father could get his hands on cable, and the 6 years of official playing time and experience in school. I know baseball, in other words. And watching Dave obliterate pitch after pitch with picture-perfect form drove me MAAAD; I'll admit it, there was a little tongue wagging goin' on. There's just something about a man playing baseball with authority, and something more added by the way Dave moves, with a kind of...masculine grace, I guess is the best way to say it. Let's just say, it was a special treat after a long day at work. You know those cartoons where the characters have to roll their projector screen-like tongues with a tug? Yeah, mine is still spinning against the back of my teeth. Mm mm mm....hottness...
Item #2: This other bit is completely unrelated, and you'll be thrown by the change of topic, but it cannot be unsaid. Today at work was an absolute ZOO with every animal in Noah's ark coming back from Spring Break with peeling faces and bronzed arms mumbling dreamily to their roommates shopping with them about their week in Cancun or Jamaica or some other disgustingly gorgeous and sunny place.
Yet in the midst of the madness comes the black sheep.
A guy in his late twenties comes in (bear with me and my description) with quarter-inch long hair poking from his scalp. But dude, this guy had dredlocks, no joke. No, not at the nape of his neck, not from the top of his skull - think weirder. Yeah, you'll never guess. This dude had THE MOST SERIOUS MUSTACHE ever conceived by man. He had kept the skin beneath his lips and his cheeks squeaky clean; yet spilling over this customer's lips and dripping to 6 inches below his chin was THE MOST SERIOUS MUSTACHE ever conceived by man: FACIAL DREDLOCKS. I cannot emphasize how weird it looked, especially in comparison to his close-shaved scalp.
I couldn't resist - if I hadn't asked SOMEthing about it, the question would have rotted out my soul like little nibbling termites until the day I died. Yes, that graphically. "So, I'm never gonna meet another guy with a mustache like you, so I have to ask...how long did that take you to grow that?"
"About 3 years. But I've trimmed and burnt the ends a few times."
"Wow; that's pretty serious facial hair."
"Yeah, it's a long-term goal of mine."
No shit buddy
The question remaining which I couldn't bring myself to spit out was obvious:
why??
In a chance act of fate, Dave got off early on a Saturday evening, so my dad invited him to come along with his kids to the batting cages. Ladies and gentlemen, the boy is irrefutably charming during a casual throw-around of the ball, but he's an absolute STUD at bat. I was raised to the sound of the Indians on the car radio every summer, the sight of Chief Wahoo and his boys as soon as my father could get his hands on cable, and the 6 years of official playing time and experience in school. I know baseball, in other words. And watching Dave obliterate pitch after pitch with picture-perfect form drove me MAAAD; I'll admit it, there was a little tongue wagging goin' on. There's just something about a man playing baseball with authority, and something more added by the way Dave moves, with a kind of...masculine grace, I guess is the best way to say it. Let's just say, it was a special treat after a long day at work. You know those cartoons where the characters have to roll their projector screen-like tongues with a tug? Yeah, mine is still spinning against the back of my teeth. Mm mm mm....hottness...
Item #2: This other bit is completely unrelated, and you'll be thrown by the change of topic, but it cannot be unsaid. Today at work was an absolute ZOO with every animal in Noah's ark coming back from Spring Break with peeling faces and bronzed arms mumbling dreamily to their roommates shopping with them about their week in Cancun or Jamaica or some other disgustingly gorgeous and sunny place.
Yet in the midst of the madness comes the black sheep.
A guy in his late twenties comes in (bear with me and my description) with quarter-inch long hair poking from his scalp. But dude, this guy had dredlocks, no joke. No, not at the nape of his neck, not from the top of his skull - think weirder. Yeah, you'll never guess. This dude had THE MOST SERIOUS MUSTACHE ever conceived by man. He had kept the skin beneath his lips and his cheeks squeaky clean; yet spilling over this customer's lips and dripping to 6 inches below his chin was THE MOST SERIOUS MUSTACHE ever conceived by man: FACIAL DREDLOCKS. I cannot emphasize how weird it looked, especially in comparison to his close-shaved scalp.
I couldn't resist - if I hadn't asked SOMEthing about it, the question would have rotted out my soul like little nibbling termites until the day I died. Yes, that graphically. "So, I'm never gonna meet another guy with a mustache like you, so I have to ask...how long did that take you to grow that?"
"About 3 years. But I've trimmed and burnt the ends a few times."
"Wow; that's pretty serious facial hair."
"Yeah, it's a long-term goal of mine."
No shit buddy
The question remaining which I couldn't bring myself to spit out was obvious:
why??
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