Sad news reaches me of a colleague who has entered that dangerous age in the mid-forties when ones testicles launch their final desperate offensive for total control of all higher brain functions, with catastrophic results.
This unhappy soul, long divorced, has in recent weeks acquired a girlfriend who he introduces to friends as “call her Rhonda”, because no-one can pronounce her real name. She is apparently from points far-eastern and has limited English beyond “me love you long time”.
Communication difficulties, both linguistic and cultural, are the inevitable result. Sure enough, when the girl buys herself some leather chaps, he immediately goes out and buys a $30000 bike, which he cannot even ride.
He has known her for three weeks.
Now, I’m used to guys of a certain age suddenly turning up to work in Mustangs, but this seems to me to be exploring new and previously unsuspected dimensions of mid-life criticality. Insofar as rational thought dictated any part of this sequence of events, it has failed our man in this case, as Rhonda refuses point blank to go near the bike, let alone mount it. For all we know, the chaps were just an invitation to ride her.
Obviously there were mixed signals at work here. Faults on both sides, and all that. She could learn a little English, or he some Cambodian. But even so – a bike? I fear I will soon be press-ganged into another bloody intervention…
*sigh* Why are men so stupid?
A big honkin’ bike, yesterday. Note to guys: generally speaking, this is a poor substitute for a princess-cut diamond tennis bracelet.