Smell My Finger
Now...cut to the scene from 1974 when "Little Robert" flat out refused to eat tomatoes, peas and wheat germ. Like a Navy SEAL, he would camouflage those undesirable veggies beneath a chicken breast carcass or a splattering of mash potatoes while desperately trying to leave the dinner table. Pan to "The Dad" who methodically sat and scrutinized the boy while blowing a gasket and puffing cartoon smoke from his ears. He tried to exert his influence and probably sprouted a few grays with "Little Robert" scribbled across them in his futile attempts. Nowadays, "Little/Big Rob" turns his Mom onto Endamame and Black Bean Burgers. He's come a long way baby.
My stint in New Orleans was the wax seal on my passion for the different. We're not just talking about Snacky Cakes and Cheesey Poofs, but the affinity to accept new music, diverse people and uncharted adventures. Sometimes you'd find me at a punk show being kicked in the head or sitting alone in a jazz club, sipping an Abita Turbodog. A soft shell crab po' boy was a new benchmark while conversations with anyone seemed like hanging out with a longtime friend. I guess the mantra "Be Different" best describes me in all phases of my life.
So back to the finger stuff. You see, I'm a dude. A guy. A boy. A man. The world of pampering one's external body has always seemed a bit foreign to me. Some things I must have are a Mach 3 razor to shave the dome and dental floss to play tug-o-war between my pearly whites. I've actually had two professional massages in my life and would gladly make it a weekly routine, but choose to focus on the joy of the body internal (i.e. yummy beer, woozy pizza and decadent sushi).
Today, I "Jumped the Shark" when I exfoliated my hands at a VIP Grand Opening event thingy. It was a one of those bathroom booth/tables scattered with stainless steel looking vessels and smelly perfumes and crap. I gave into peer pressure from five (count 'em five) people including two realtor dudes who needed to focus on the basics of soap and the wonders of showering. After rubbing my hands with smelly, green, goopy sand, I was mesmerized by the next step. Dessert spray. What is this world coming to that we had to create a product that sneezes hazelnut, pumpkin, avocado and 31 flavors onto your digits. I am now spreading vanilla and coconut stank all over my poor keyboard. I'm making myself sick and hungry at the same time. Think I'll stick my mitts in some Windex followed by shoving them into a box of Cinnabons.
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