Thursday, March 18, 2010

a laugh less ordinary.

Public transit, a luxury in disguise. Parked Bertha at Terry Fox, hopped onto the D96, slouched in my seat, and opened a book. Ignoring surroundings, worrying not about traffic or speed or regulation. Worrying about nothing. Reading Douglas Coupland, who in the past, I loathed. But I've recently come to appreciate his style. As our long city limousine approached Centretown, I looked up out the large, modest window. Man tits. Gray hair, broad shoulders, blue dress shirt, pulled at the chest by breasts bigger than my own. Man titties make me laugh. So, I laughed, on the bus. I suppose there may have been a few glances my way, curious as to what on earth that 5 foot nothing young lady could find so humorous at such an early hour. Is it wrong to laugh at man tits? Maybe.

I don't really care. He didn't see me laughing at him. He was on the street, oblivious to the great big urban submarine, fostering working class observers. Ah ignorance could be bliss, in such cases. Come on people, man tits are funny.

So are muffin tops. Classless girls trotting around, low-rise jeans, skin exposed, blubb-- I won't say it. No, I couldn't. I too, once had a muffin top. Of course, I kept mine in my pants and under a shirt, but hey, I'm not perfect either. I flashed a taxi driver once. In high school. It was a dare. There you have it. I've done my share of exhibitionism.

The mad man at Hazeldean Mall is funny. A hockey buff, carries around a radio, listening to the games. A true fanatic. Make eye contact and a thrilling conversation will sprout, namely concerning the Habs or the Red Wings. His favourites. He smiles. Endearment, truest form therein. He's 60, maybe older. Always ready to make a new friend. Always willing, and always open. He's warm. Funny too. He once told me while on the shitter, Habs scored, and he shat it all out at once, in excitement. Clearly, the radio is with him at all times. Funny though, yes? He laughed, I laughed in accordance with him. Only on his terms.

I'm okay with laughing at man tits and muffin tops if I can redeem myself by indulging an eccentric old man in a conversation which he finds stimulating. I'm okay with that. So, I don't care if you're not.

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