I like to dress myself up.
Not to the nines--just nicely--and I do so frequently. What's "just nicely" entail?
I'm glad you asked.
On this particularly evening it bears an explicit description of my attire so that the court of public opinion can weigh in with an educated viewpoint--either in support, or in condemnation.
So, to put a fine point on it, I was in a charcoal cardigan, with charcoal wool trousers, a crimson narrow tie on a white collared shirt, with a grey short-brimmed fedora and red black and white Adidas. Spiff, if I do say so myself.
So while I was waiting in line at the parking ticket meter with several other Calgarians anxious for their Friday night to get underway, I was feeling like I had the world by the tail. Until. . .
. . . there were two hobos perched beneath the meter, and with each new parking customer one of the gents was engaging them in a bit of polite smalltalk, which inevitably turned into a solicitation of money for "coffee". When my turn came, the hobo blinked at me, and I could see the wheels turning behind his eyes.
H- "You look like one of them. . . one of them mimes."
B- "Pardon me?"
H- "You look like one of them mimes."
B- (pause)"Geez--you're a real sweet talker, ain't ya?"
H- "It's a compliment!"
B- "Then you must have a completely different opinion of mimes than I do!"
B- "The world hates mimes."
With that, I strode off, having entertained the line behind me--and no doubt garnered their silent support for my position on mimes.
A Marine (his car plate read "Marine" and he had a giant "Semper Fi!" sticker on his back window), who had been immediately behind me in line, asked me when I would be performing next. I told him that when I wasn't wearing my white gloves, I was off-duty.
Friendly advice to anyone: never compliment someone by drawing comparisons between the Complimentee and:
1) A mime;
3) Goose shit.