eeeeow
can't believe all the arse hair posts that followed mine. reminds me of one of my beloved, cultured father's favourite comments - namely that a man's arse hairs (women not having hairy butts, naturally) are just the roots of his eyelashes, which travel all the way down inside his body and poke out of his bum. to anyone looking at him in disbelief, or indeed weary resignation, which he chooses to take as disbelief so he can give the punchline, he says gleefully, "and if you don't believe me, tug one. it'll make your eyes water."

this is bad enough. but the other night my friend and i took our dads out to dinner. they hadn't met before, but both are recently widowed and we thought, one doctor, one banker, they're civilised, both play golf, bound to get on. conversation was pleasant, if a little stilted at first. until anne and i went to the bar. we came back to hear my dad roaring one of his favourite banking anecdotes about his boss from the dark ages when he was a young banker (or the "1960s" as he calls it):

"the turd was so big that we had to get the doorman in to break it up into pieces with one of those metal measuring rulers".

ffs. the entire restaurant did not need to know that... noone needed to know that...
( rachelswipe with a fork, Fri 7 Sep 2007, 16:08, Reply)