Subject: Reed ’em and Weep: 5 May 2008 Monday 5 May 2008 Today in history: It’s a biggie — 78 years since Afrikaans was declared an official language here in .za, 47 years since Alan Shepard became the first man in outer space, and the anniversary of The Battle of Puebla in Mexico on Cinco de Mayo, among others. So Next Door Trevor mowed their front lawn yesterday while I was mowing our front lawn as a favour for my dad. I like Trevor; he’s fun, and funny, and bit of a breath of… different air, which is not necessarily fresh. Their lawnmower is more hardcore than ours — there’s money there, big money somewhere in the background, I think — and much newer, and I was a little surprised when Trevor popped out with it to mow their lawn after chatting to me while I was mowing ours since I thought they’d have a garden service. Anyway, we mowed simultaneously, shooting the shit as we went along. Only major difference was our dress — boardies and a t-shirt and shoes for me, standard summery wear because it’s still warm enough and only early autumn here; just a pair of boxers for Trevor. Yes, you read that right. No, they definitely weren’t shorts — he stripped off to his undies on the driveway while talking to me and dropped his shorts, shirt and shoes onto the boot mezitli escort of his car in the garage while he got the mower out and got set up to go. He likes to tan while mowing, he says. I get it, get some sun while you’re doing what you need to get done, who am I to complain? It was nice though and very social. We got through a six-pack of Black Label while we mowed. Well, Trevor got through five of them while I managed just a single, but hey — free beer, right? I mentioned there’s money next door somewhere — I think it might be with the missus. There seems to have been some or other witchcraft at play there, since he seems to carry a significant level of resentment towards her folks for all they seem to have done. They bought the house as an investment; Trevor and Cecilia live there rent-free. Her folks maintain the place, put in an automated sprinkler system, electrified the garage door and put in a security system, sprung for satellite tv and internet, and frequently drop off gifts of groceries and other stuff. I’m not sure if he views this as unnecessary meddling or them pissing on his territory and lording it over him, but he doesn’t exactly come off as grateful. To be fair, I might get a bit annoyed myself if I were pozcu escort him; but then I’d remind myself that I wait tables 4 shifts per week at a quiet suburban restaurant and attend classes part time while my missus works four full days per week and takes classes at night, and between us we actually couldn’t afford a fraction of what we have here. I’m not having a go at the guy, but this is his situation in a nutshell — she works, he has a typical student income and life while living the reasonably comfortable lifestyle of a sorted young professional. I mean, you can’t have it both ways. But I can see why he seems antsy about it all. It was a little tough to concentrate with his junk, which I somehow have still not seen despite us showering at the gym on three occasions now, swinging about like a pendulum in those silky boxers. I must say it looks like it may have some heft, judging by how much movement is happening in there. I’m not a fan of silky boxers; used to sleep in a pair until I was about 13 when I switched to cotton since the fake silk irritates my delicate skin. They’re very high school, though, I reckon. But although they’re entirely unflattering and not at all revealing, I don’t think I could ever walk out in public escort bayan in my boxers. For no good reason, either — I mean, you’re covered; you’re as naked in them as if you were down at the beach in swimming shorts (and more covered than if you were in one of the little square boxerbrief/trunk or traditional Speedos, and without a bulge showing), but I think that having people know they’re my undies would freak the living bejeebers out of me. I think Al would agree, actually — he won’t even walk around the house in his boxers which he sleeps in. Soon as he wakes up, he puts on tracksuit pants or proper shorts over the top. I mean, that’s OTT and I’m not that bad. But I doubt I could mow the lawn in mine. Also, let’s not forget that my mom would have kittens if I even tried it. She’s so old-fashioned about weird things like that. “What would the neighbours say?” etc etc. I should mow in my undies next time, and then when she shrieks that famous phrase point out that the neighbours were the ones who started it. In other news, not much which is good. House party Friday night which I was comparatively well-behaved at; and I shot the shit with Antony this morning for as long as it takes to walk from Chem to Physics, about 2 minutes. I must say, and this is a bummer, that apart from our chat after last Wednesday’s prac he really hasn’t initiated any further conversation, and I’m not sure whether or not I was imagining it but he didn’t seem all that keen to chat this morning when I accosted him, either. More as it undoubtedly fails to happen. -C