You can scroll the shelf using ← and → keys
You can scroll the shelf using ← and → keys
I’m not talking about the family jewels, a.k.a. the berries to the epic (or not-so-epic) twig, but in fact I refer to jewelry worn by men.
From what I’ve seen in society up until now, men get ridiculed for their man jewels most of the time.
What better way for a gold-digger to spot a winner, than to find someone with a pinky ring and/or lustrous thick gold chain? And in the summertime? The sunshine glinting off a manklet can be seen from a hundred feet away!
I won’t pretend that five-thousand-dollar Armani suits aren’t more revered by the classy elite, but for the common gold-digger who spends the dayshift working at the local drugstore and the nightshift rubbing shimmery lotion on her cleavage before hitting up happy hour, how are you supposed to know which suit is which? Especially in a darkened bar? It’s not like there’s a glittery label across the back that says “Armani”.
A gold-digger “friend” of mine actually suffered the deceit of the suit and it wasn’t pretty. Martini’s were flowing, hands were being caressed, and it seemed that my friend had earned her meal ticket, for the easy exchange of her body and its X-rated treasures. But in a startling turn of events, he mentioned an upcoming job interview.
A jobless man in a suit?!
Armani my ass.
You think this unfortunate mess couldn’t happen again? With today’s economic decline? Never trust a man in a suit. And now more than ever, imagine if we didn’t have gold to guide the way!
Which brings me to the glorious flip-side of things.
I was once at Toronto’s premier happy-hour joint, catered to investment bankers and the like (imagine a velvet rope, a bouncer, and sexy Japanese décor. Then imagine scantily-clad women and men in suits. Now you are there.) In between my third and fourth “Pomtini” I unwittingly struck up a chat with a despicable suited man. His hair was greasy, his breath was whisky and his leer made me wish that I had worn a sensible cardigan. As my eyes darted around in search of security, I was suddenly blinded by the glimmer of both a pinky ring and a man-bracelet. When my eyes finally adjusted to these new-found riches I smiled at my grease-bag draped in gold. I’d found him.
The reason I’m still single today is that I went to the bathroom that night, and left my manly pot-of-gold to wait. When I returned I couldn’t find him because of “Pomtini” impairment. I guess you shouldn’t drink and dig. Otherwise we’d be married right now and consumed by nightly fits of passion (where he of course would be instructed to leave the gold ON).
So a note of encouragement to all you future trophy wives out there: finding your prize pig is not a hopeless quest, just follow the light of the diamond-encrusted man-ring…
He was wearing a man-bracelet?? No, not OK. In LA I’ve seen gold necklaces and the occasional ring, but I have yet to see a man-bracelet.
This is my favorite line because it’s poetry: “His hair was greasy, his breath was whisky and his leer made me wish that I had worn a sensible cardigan.”
I also saw a man-bracelet worn on a tree-trunk manly wrist last week, on the train. Only inches away. Nearly impossible to contain myself.
HAH! Hilarious post! Makes me ever more thankful that I never went to bars … well, hardly ever …
How lucky you were to have been pomtini-impaired my dear. I mean if you were tipsy enough to have lost track of the entirety of Mr. Wrong, how could you have put even the tiniest smidgen of credence into his almost certainly fake ornamentation? (Although you probably nailed the greasy doo and alky breath.)
So light a candle and make a prayer of thanksgiving to your insistent bladder for rescuing you from 1.3 years of WTFDIJD?!?!
And move along to Number Nine. Number Nine.
We have moved along to #9 David, and indeed, I would like to avoid any “WTFDIJD” moments in my life 😉
If I had only known this insight back in the day.
Well slamdunk, if there’s a chance to help future generations, then we must.
Romi – you know D.Levine up there wears some bling. He’s not the type of guy to come right out and say it, but we both know.
Right, I’m not that type of guy. I’m the other guy. But my bling is just a wedding band that my wife’s grandfather wore. She wears the wedding ring my mother wore, which came from my dad’s mother, a grandmother who died long before I ever came near to existence. So now you both know.
We know and we love it David! You always have the best stories and nice details 🙂
I picture an Italian, Greek or other type of hairy olive skinned type of individual. They are the only men that can get away with accessorizing themselves, especially in gold! YUCK! I have such a sleezy image in my head now, thanks for that. I imagine a balding man in his mid 50’s with his hair slicked back and a floral button-down shirt with grey chest hair flowing out. Perhaps a tooth-pick in tow and some pleated slacks. YUCK YUCK.
Why did he have to have a floral button down shirt and GREY chest hair FLOWING out?! You are so gross Justin, I hate you.
(but I don’t 😉 )