tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1048339938354073695.post-466342102067928062008-03-16T23:51:00.015-04:002008-03-17T00:34:22.808-04:00Thong Man came into the library this past weekend. Thong Man, of all people!!! I hadn't seen that guy in years.<br /><br />Way back when, nearly half my life ago, the high-school-aged G used to hang at a small, overcrowded beach tucked along the backroads, about thirty miles outside the town. That's where I first saw Thong Man, whom I would come to recognize as a regular at that particular sandspot.<br /><br />Thong Man, quite obviously, wore a thong. But not just any thong. This was a leopard-print thong. Yes, that's right. Yellow, orange, and black leopard-print, like the seat covers in some pimp's decked-out 1976 Lincoln Mark IV.<br /><br />But it gets worse. Thong Man, I'm guessing, was a fan of Fabio. Or quite possibly Harlequin Romance, I'm not entirely sure which. Either way, he had the fully-styled Fabio hair, and a body that was beyond unnaturally muscular, which only a serious dosage of steroids could have built. It was impossible to NOT notice the guy, and he knew it.<br /><br />Thong Man had a lady friend who would usually accompany him to the beach. Thong Woman, we called her, though I always thought Thongette was more PC. Some called them Tarzan and Jane, but I was never a fan of that story, so Thong Man and Thongette it was. She was a beauty, too ... fit but not too muscular (still feminine), with long wavy dirty blonde hair and no visible signs of cosmetic surgery of any type. Excellent.<br /><br />She, too, wore a thong bikini. Matched his, actually. Spot for freakin' spot.<br /><br />And here I thought the whole leopard-print thing died with disco. My bad.<br /><br />Back to the weekend.<br /><br />Seeing Thong Man, in the library, fully clothed (thankfully), brought back several memories which I had, until now, successfully repressed. I wish he hadn't come in; man, he's gotten old fast. He's still doing the Fabio thing, except that these days the hairline is in full retreat mode. There are few things sadder than a long-haired man who refuses to admit he is losing his hair. The shirt he wore was far too tight, and revealed a serious case of the ever-dreaded man boobs. Gravity's a bitch, fellas, no matter how many steroids are involved.<br /><br />I wondered, for a moment, how Thongette was doing, whether gravity had struck her also, and whether the years had taken them away from the leopard-print stylings and into a new design of choice. Or were they still Tarzan and Jane?<br /><br />Of course, as soon as I thought that, my mind naturally wandered to another particular notion: was Thong Man wearing a thong today, in the library? Was it the leopard-print thong we'd all come to know and hate all those years ago at the beach? And why the hell did I want to know this???<br /><br />Thong Man found his books (not books on Tarzan, or leopards, surprisingly), checked them out, and left. I'm quite sure he didn't recognize me; why would he have? Unlike him, nothing about me really stood out those days. I was just your average skinny, pale, high school kid making fun of a man in a thong and staring all googley-eyed at his leopard-thonged lady friend. Those were the days.<br /><br />Before leaving, Thong Man paused, turned toward me, and approached the desk. He ran his hand through his receding Fabio-styled hair, as several strands drifted aimlessly down to the floor. <br /><br />"Pardon me", he began. "This may sound like an odd question, but ...<br /><br />... do you guys have any Harlequins?"Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09408883669990638475noreply@blogger.com