Monday, September 11, 2006
Ode to IG
I was talking to IG this evening and this morning, and in both cases the conversion flowed like the second bottle of a great red wine, just after a particularly stunning bottle of first red wine.
Guy conversations are never boring: they are fill of partial "bits", that to a casual girl observer would never make sense of.
Too bloody right.
Guys can talk for hours - debating the latest XBox game - to asking the universal questions of why all my girl friends like girls, and why slim girls always surround themselves with not so slim girls.
Guys are so unPC - and that is a good thing. In a guy conversation, what you see is what you get. No stone unturned - no truth unsaid.
When asking why I am still single - a guy response may well be "Because you're soooo fucking ugly - thats why".
Well I'm happy we got that sorted then - shall we move on to world peace then? Nah - lets have a bourbon on ice and a white owl cigar - It's been a long day.
The guys conversation is rarely heard in the home anymore. Sometimes the guy may make the mistake of uttering a line of "guy speak" within air shot of a women - or worse a wife. I had a friend who once decided that it was safer to say "I have no opinion on that honey" to every dodgy question his wife asked. It didn't work for long. It seems that the irony of honesty is not lost on the opposite sex. What would I know? All my friends are girls: and they like other girls.
So while I was discussing the irony that is my life - we skipped from conversation to conversation - much like a stone skipping on a clear still lake, until the inevitable sinking of the stone, when IG mentioned he was naked.