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September 28, 2003 if looks Several readers have observed I haven't been writing much lately.  These are the same helpful women who, when horizontal with an impotent man, point out his failure to achieve an erection.  These are the same thoughtful men who suggest their wives could "lose a few pounds."  Yes.  I know.  I haven't been writing much lately.  But I am capitalizing like a Big Boy. I am a single guy.  A visiting friend found it odd I not only lowered the toilet seat, but I closed the lid.  I told her I lowered the seat because I was raised by two older sisters.  As for the lid, I recounted a magazine article describing the zillions of piss and shit germs that explode like frag from a cluster-bomb every time one flushes.  Closing the lid between every use and the subsequent flush was, I explained, easier than purchasing a new toothbrush after every flush, especially when there were "just so many pink toothbrushes out there."  I gestured toward the pink tile of my bathroom when I said this.  If looks could kill, I wouldn't be dead, but I would be encased in an Iron Maiden. Last week, my daughter blew off her sorority activities to accompany me to her college's football game.  At one point in the evening, she looked at me and said,  "You're the best date I've ever had."  I expressed confidence the situation would improve.  Hearing no reply, I looked away from the half-time show and into her big brown eyes.  If looks could kill, I'd be immortal.

©  2003 by the beastmaster