In which FHC is a little bitter about Spring

As I was watching X. in madras shorts and some sort of sandals passing me by yesterday, I felt I was not ready for spring at all. If it was not for the fact that I am still in a wintry mood, I anyway never understood why grown-up men feel that they can wear culottes, polos and all kind of wild colors as soon as the weather get a little warmer. This is particularly unbearable after 9 p.m. I barely tolerate shorts in footballers, Indian cricket players and teenagers with nice legs but let alone middle-aged gay men in shorts on their way to spread their tyranny a little further in the gay world. Soon summer will come in and they will wear tank tops exposing both their soul and their flesh bare. I will be repulsed but then hopefully they will all have moved to Rehoboth and us pants wearing people will breathe more easily. I should work on my spare time on a list of the best-dressed gays in town, I think Andy L. would figure on it, Kevin W.’s 2003 (pre-poverty) wardrobe and then…nobody.

Overall, I just feel that spring is not a good time for Clonozepam, wood-paneling, crying in your custom-made closet (courtesy of Mark H. who monitors Craig’s list for all of us), tweed jackets, canes, l’UOMO magazines and that song “Bohemian Like You” by the Dandy Warhols. Also spring kind of creeped on me: the trees blossomed while I was dying on valium in my cave and yesterday, while I was drinking a cosmopolitan at Regent with perfect company, I felt it could have waited a few days for me.

Comments

[Mark H.]

Are you sure his name is Peter? I thought it was Adam.

[Old Fagat]

Wow, you're really crushing, aren't you?

[LL]

Why did you delete XXXX's name?

This smells like poisson.

[Tristan]

You kids are so belligerant !

[MH2]

I smell the scent of someone who just succumbed to the very tyranny he seeks to depose. It smells a lot like fish.