Thursday, 18 July 2013

With Sox

Summer time in Ireland is normally exactly like the winter except the rain warms up a little. This year has been a fantastic departure from the norm with nearly three weeks of unbroken sunshine so far and the promise of even more to come.

I think that the good weather brings out the best in nearly all women. They swish by in flowing colourful sun dresses. Lots of sun kissed skin, long bronzed legs and miniskirts makes driving a car near impossible. Well done Girls!! I know what you'r going to say. They can't all look like that. True True. But girls are more in touch what brings their best side It's a skill that should be applauded. We have all seen the mistakes. Laughed behind cupped hands. The Size 16 stuffed into size 10 miniskirt and boob tube. Ten years of McDonald's hanging over the waistband. The entire outfit shifting dangerously as she moves. Or the girl with bedraggled cardigans in dull brown over shapeless dresses made of discarded nuns habits.  These examples only help to prove the rule. With that said we come to the Irish men of summer.

Mother of divine heaven what happened to the men. At the first glimpse of sunshine any guy that thinks he has a half decent body whip's off the top. Parading about with it draped over a shoulder or tied around his waist. Let me tell you guys that this is a major mistake even in the eyes of another man. Firstly, that skin has seen about 10 minutes of sunshine in its entire time on the planet. Whiter than the snow's of the arctic. Pasty Irish men with little tufts of bum fluff chest hair will not make the women go weak at the knees. At least not with pleasure.

Another thing. What's with the walk. Yesterday all these fellas could make it down the road like normal everyday people. Today the council are out widening footpaths to make room for the swinging shoulders, puffed out chests and held in tummies. A beer belly is a beer belly whether you hold it in or not. Take a hint from the fairer sex on this one. Less is more.

Grand, get a bit of sun on that alabaster skin but do it in your own backyard or the beach. I must admit I have fell victim to this fopa myself in younger days but I hope I have learned a little from my mistakes. When you see a beautiful woman in a flowing skirt and crisp linen shirt you have a fair idea what is underneath. Like in a good book the hint of something lets the imagination make up the rest. A wistful picture more alluring than any reality can live up to.

This brings me to my next bone of contention. WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU WEARING!!!! On a particularly warm evening my bar looked like a team of blind drag queens had gone riot in TK Max. Mad colours, bold patterns. Nothing matched. Every pair of shorts looking like they were made for someone either two feet taller or in some cases two stone lighter. Even I could have lived with that. It was one hot night in ten years.  However being kitted out from head to knee like Michael Jordan's midget albino cousin and wearing black suit sox and some random pair of shoes left me wanting to poke my eyes out with a sharp stick.

Don't generalise Squid I hear you say. Guilty sadly. There are some very stylish men out there and I am super jealous of them. They have the eye and confidence to know what looks good. They brave the jibes of the ignorant of multi-coloured buffoons. I would not put myself in either camp. I have had my days of fashion disaster as well as days that drew complements. In general I would say I was a tad dull. My resolution is to watch the best dressers and take a few hints. Learn from my betters and I encourage the bare chested out there to do the same.

There you have it, my opinion for what it's worth. What makes me sad is not the hideous outfits but the fact we seem not to want to get better. People should be happy in there skin and their clothes. For some nothing says happiness like a pair of yellow boardies and black leather shoes, but never WITH SOX.
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