HAMBURGERS AND ARMPITS

That's what Britanny told a guy. You see, not only do I watch American Idol, but since the start, I confess I'm a fan of Glee as well.

If you're not, well I'll fill you in on only the most necessary details. Britanny is a cheerleader who has dated most every other guy at school. Kurt is a guy who thinks he's gay, tries to be a bud to his Dad who is a man's man; he dates Brittany when the cheerleading coach told him he didn't know what his sexuality was since he had never kissed a guy or gal. Got it?

When he kisses the cheerleader he says she tasted like a root beer float and asked her what guys taste like. And yes, it took me that long to make a point. As I get older, notice I didn't say grow older, because I'm afraid I'm not growing much except around the middle, sometimes it takes me so long to make a point that I've forgotten where I was heading. Not so today.

The woman smoking the remains of a ceegar needs a breath mint or three before even indulging in close conversation. She probably knows that. If it's her first cigar, she'll certainly remember next time to come equipped. But my attention is more on how she looks.

How can any woman look good smoking anything other than a cigarette? And even then. There used to be a woman at the Green Hills pool who smoked a pipe. Corn cob unless I'm mistaken. She also wore an African safari hat. She wasn't old; she wasn't tan; she was just weird.

When we were chowing down on some Irish stew at an outdoor cafe in Victoria recently, a woman joined a few others at the table next to us. Well coiffed, well dressed, she looked the part of a Canadian business woman. Until she removed her jacket. Tattoos from elbows to the top of both arms. One on her upper chest looked like a bird taking a nose dive toward her boobs.

No cigar for her, though in these days even smoking at a restaurant outside is passe. But I bet she didn't taste like root beer.