I'm making my way home from dinner-call at Demeter's, when I see a couple just ahead of me on the sidewalk stop to approach a bush and smell the blossoms.
Nuthin' wrong with that. The women of the pair, however, is wearing an ill-advised romper.
(N.B. All rompers are ill-advised; I once mistakenly purchased one for younger daughter, believing it to be a blouse.)
The lower quarters of the lady's buttocks are emerging from the leg-holes, which is why they're designed for young women - and even then, they're still a bad idea. I advert my eyes, and quickly walk past them - the woman and the man, that is.
They abruptly stand to one side to let me by, and the fellow calls out to me in a loud jocular voice, congratulating me on "beating" them: "No, really, I congratulate you, ma'am!" he persists.
I laugh heartily, with a sinking and uneasy feeling that I'm being mocked. (Why? I wonder to myself. At least I'm not wearing a romper.) I hurry up the pathway to my building.
It rather ruins my evening.
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