Ass Wednesday : MoWo guest post ... Achilles in the white pants

OK so the p-man has been a big poster this week. Here it is Ass Wednesday and the caustic well has run dry, after his run-down of the surf and turf sporting life followed by the Jazz Festival report. (I was quite impressed the latter got him play at Costello fansite.)

But whatever, this is my asinine guest post. Be it resolved MoWo has a few not nice bones in her body. Whereas, it is sooo uncool to be a nice blogger. And, whereas, Metro defined me so publicly on his uber-blog as nice... and whereas I will bite the hand that sends me a zillion hits on his referring url here we go... a MoWo Ass Wednesday post.

It's about white pants.

The thermometers are beginning to register temperatures around 30 degrees celsius and here they come the white pants. (That's 86 degrees to you Southerners) I have an odd relationship with white pants, I don't really like them. Of course, I am a complete hypocrite about this for somewhere around that fairy tale age of 22 I was in possession of a pair of white Levis I would team up with an old belt of my Dad's and skimpy black t-shirt that made me look hot, hot, hot.. though that might just be the weed talking, there. My inspiration to the acquisiton of these pants, by the way, was the p-man himself. Poor p-man.

Poor p-man??? Your interrogate?? Yes. You know I found this fellow under the burning rays of a record hot summer in the UK. We were -- ostensibly -- and I mean ostensibly.. you have never had a more perfect definition of ostensible anything 'til now, luvies... Ostensibly, we were on a university program to excavate a Roman fort in the midlands and it was hot. More than shorts weather hot, but have shorts will dig.. and have teatime and play cricket with rudimentary wickets and no rules in the hot sun.

After two weeks in this 'class' p-man and me, we were an item. We had done some cool side trips to the Mumbles and up the Northern ends of Scotland.. I think we were almost done when I saw him in pants for the first time. And, they were white. Poor p-man .. I laughed out loud at the sight of him. I swear this rad guy I had been dating for awhile all of a sudden had shed every ounce of coolness that his svelte frame cut in those wee shorts and noisy tie-dyes; outfits further embellished by a horrifying network of mountain biking wounds current and past. I cringe at the memory of my nasty cackle that day.

Sweep up your sympathies, of course, for the husband if they are forming please -- the image of his diminutive stature out of the short pants was fully redeemed within 6 months by a chirpy, ageless Classics professor we shared. She unabashedly used my boyfriend and his slim, wiry -- and short -- physique as her example of what Achilles looked like!

So anyway... It's summer now and outside the lawn bowlers I must ready myself for a full 12 weeks disdain of white pants wearers. Old ladies and young things, golf weirdos and salesguys. Yuck. I really don't know why they elicit my sniffs of dissapproval and judgement so readily, but they do. Maybe I'm just thinking... he's no Achilles?

So what about you? Do you like white pants? Are you wearing them now? If so I have words for you...