Too Much Information.

So, yesterday i had an altogether new experience.
("In the altogether"? "nude" instead of "new"?)

i'm at work, minding my own business, when a guy walks up. His breath is flammably alcoholic, but his pupils were like pinpoints, so i'm guessing there was another substance at work as well. He'd just gotten a new tattoo, on his neck, and wanted to know if he could check it out in the mirror. My co-worker and i were happy to oblige, just for the spectacle. In all fairness, it was a really nice tattoo! It was simple, just 2 words (i can't remember them) and a date: 1911. But the letters were very artfully scrolled, and the inkwork was truly phenomenal. It looked really, really smart.

And we told him so! After he asked five hundred times.

Turns out this guy had a bit of a self-image problem. He kept adjusting his (porkpie) hat and/or fixing his hair ("should i shave it all off? What do you ladies think?"), and after regaling us with a long story about his estranged wife and their 2 kids, he made us promise that she didn't leave him because of his looks.

"i mean, i'm not ugly, right? i'm a decent-looking guy? C'mon, ladies, tell me the truth."

Holy insecure tattooed twenty-somethings, Batman! i thought i was bad. Seriously, asking a complete stranger to rate your attractiveness? And with not a trace of irony? i could see another, douchier, guy using this act as some sort of come-on. But this lad was truly, truly up to his ears in self-loathing. It was a little rough to be around.

But here's the kicker: As much as he was fiddling with his clothing, what with the constant tugging, adjusting, patting down, etc., i couldn't help but, you know, look at him. And that's when i noticed it.

"It" being the operative word.

His pants were sagging quite a bit (nothing strange in this day and age), but instead of wearing boxer shorts, he was wearing tighty-whities. Thin ones. And um, did i mention yet how low his pants were? Let's just say that there was very little of this guy left to the imagination. Here are a couple of pop culture references that might illustrate the issue a little better:

#1: (see :30-:40)


and #2: (see 1:25-2:50)


Now, although "it" was never actually "out", it may as well have been. It was the male equivalent of a girl bending over and showing a whole lotta thong: nobody needs to see that, you know? Some things are just.... private. Now, cleavage is one thing. A guy walking around without a shirt on is another. But i really do not to see the exact size and shape of your genitalia there, buddy. Thanks, all the same.

i wonder if he even knew? A guy that (obviously) looks in the mirror that much must have given himself at least a dozen once-overs before leaving the house that day, how did this get overlooked? Hm. Guess we'll never know for sure.

Eventually, we gave him a flower to take to his estranged wife (he was on his way to help her pack for a trip). He proclaimed what great friends we all were now that he'd confided in us, and poured his heart out and all, and he was off down the street, giving me a "bye, April!" and April a "see ya later, Heather!"