Taking Pictures Is the New Pointing
I was celebrating Shaynafest last night, when Toby (who surely can recount this tale better than I can) announced that "The Pussy Patrol had arrived," gesturing towards a group of three men in their late twenties, each uniquely a pariah. The tallest had clearly asserted himself the leader by walking into the room and standing against a wall with one foot pressing his luggy frame against the wooden panelling. His matching denim jeans and jacket complemented his goatee in a late 1980s badass fashion. He probably cried when Metallica's lead singer cut off his mullet in 1995. The others, a lanky blonde whose mother had probably picked out his Wrangler jeans and a short Indian dynamo, followed their Shepherd to his spot against the wall -- which humorous fate had placed immediately in front of Toby and me. Though compelled to point and stare, we politely took pictures of them, confident in our subtlety. Alas, before they left to sit in another room, Toby noticed that one had taken a picture of us, and a few minutes later, their short Indian delegate approached us and handed me a business card, as he explained that they had seen us photographing them. Thankfully, he didn't mention our roaring laughter.
Agatha said so on May 13, 2006 12:39 PM | Permalink
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Thoughts?
but where are the pictures?!
My camera ;)
Posted by: Agatha | May 15, 2006 11:58 PM