How festive. Three (count ’em!) friends called me on my iPhone tonight to insist that I meet them for dancing at a local Seattle club. We’ll do. I’ll look my best- tee shirt and jeans from American Apparel, colourful briefs from JC Penney, suspenders from Urban Outfitters, everything which should make me spiffy, sexy and irresistable.
But it seems to be a bit of a pipe dream to meet a bloke my age who does not smoke, drink to excess, do drugs or otherwise be oblivious to the finer things in life, Henry James, Matisse and Beethoven?
Then they might not mind if I occasionally had an accident in my underwear? It could happen anyway, and my friends don’t even know that. Such are the complications of not being very ‘normal’.