The Hermit Crab

September 2, 2007 at 7:05 pm (Sweet sticky things, The Easy Chair)

I get the feeling people are taking advantage of this last official long weekend of summer. The phone isn’t ringing much, there aren’t the usual block parties involving mariachi music and drunken scooter riding. There is an uncommon quiet on my street. The fact that *I* am home is odd. I’m usually out creating mischief. Today I haven’t made it farther than the kitchen.

That could change…

ThatGirl left town for a couple of days. We’ve always been good at being ‘alone together’. There have been few uncomfortable silences. We don’t feel the need to entertain each other. (Besides, she’s always got eight million things to do. If tedium sets in, she just picks another.) This time around, she wanted real space. And I was okay with that. Because I realized I needed a little space as well.

And what have I done with this time? Not much. This sunny Sunday has been spent in the friendly confines of my hot little room, where the fans are earning their electric supper. Other than a trip to the grocery store and a rendezvous with the lovely Mizelle, I’ve been hibernating.

For entertainment I watched Last Tango in Paris. I was fascinated with this film as a teenager. (“The Godfather does porno? Marlon Brando must be the coolest!”) I tried watching it a while back, and was disappointed. The term ‘pretentious arty crap’ jumped to mind. It was during the big break-up, not the best time for watching this dark film.

I liked it a lot better this time, mostly because of the nudity. Maria Schneider was a beautiful young girl. She’s gotta be in her late fifties by now. The camera worships her nubile frame.

What did I find most distracting? Why, her pubes, of course! (While trying to find a picture of said bush, I found this site, which has blurbs about a lot of my favorites.)

The ’70s were a different time. I am old and experienced enough to remember when a trimmed coochie was the rarity and not the norm. Most of the women I knew back then would let the underbrush grow, so to speak. Like Forrest Gump’s box of chocolates, you never knew what you were gonna get.

And, Miss Maria Schneider, what a magnificent patch you have! (“Billy Preston called. He wants his Afro back…”) Straightened out, the hairs would have to be three or four inches long. Seen the movie Critters? Give it two eyeballs and some teeth, and I smell sequel!

I’ve done other things, more productive than obsessing over pubic hair. I filled out financial forms for my latest medical adventure. It’s a PITA but I’ve gotten it down to a science. (Make multiple copies of things when the opportunity arises!) It only took a few minutes, and hopefully will save me thousands of dollars.

Now I’m torn between calling Mizelle and suggesting another movie (Superbad last night) or finagling a ride to score some munchies and putting my extensive movie collection to work. There must be something I haven’t seen yet that would blow my socks off and give me something to write about tomorrow.

If I don’t, so what? I can take another nap, there’s a baseball game on, and I still have an ice cream stash. Dilemma? Hardly.

Fast-forward an hour. The die has been cast. I’ve got fried chicken, chocolate chip cookies and a pint of B & J Phish Food. (Midnight munchie insurance.) There’s a baseball game on, and I’m running out of reasons to go outside.

So I will check the ongoing seaside adventures of ThatGirl via e-mail, see if anyone else is hanging out online, then turn the interactives off.

Time to grow some funk of my own, amigos.


1 Comment

  1. lykesbro said,

    Yes indeed the 70’s and 80’s the women of that era, were proud of their patch.
    Some of those critters I remember, one would need a weed whacker to find the holy Grail.
    One girl I was dating from Gladstone, I swear she was hiding “war criminals” as her thicket was quite dense.
    I’m glad I lived in Oregon at that time, after all it’s the beaver state.

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