A Little Bit of Magic in the Air . . .

I was thinking of becoming a gigolo. I mean, I already hang out with women old enough to appreciate that stuff, anyway. Most of them can sneak a little extra cash from their husbands and the husbands are at work all day to boot. That gives me from noon until three to work my magic. I figured I wouldn't start until noon because I needed a little me time, too.

I just had to learn a few gigolo tricks, first. Like suggestively arching one eyebrow. I tried it in front of the mirror and every time some facial muscles went up . . . a few others went down. My face was twitching so much I looked like Miss USA trying to keep it together until her next fix. When everything finally settled down, I tried it again. This time I made my ears wiggle. So I thought, "Whatever . . ." and tried to make them wiggle suggestively. Admittedly, it's not hot but it should get their attention.

The next thing I needed was the pencil thin mustache. I figured, "How hard can that be?" All I can say is that there must be a special tool or attachment for that. Triple-head Norelcos are not that precise. So I thought I'd encourage what I hadn't mangled with an eyebrow pencil. All I found was a brown Sharpie. Did you know those things are permanent?

Finally, I had to work on an exotic accent. I knew I already had all of the savoir faire I needed but the accent is always a nice touch. I was going for something mysterious and Mediterranean. The closest I got was a cross between Polish and beaner. Sort of a Don Diegokowski. So I threw in a lot of "How you say?'s" and I was golden.

So, I splashed a little Canoe on my chest fur, threw on a pair of low-rider jeans and a silk disco shirt open to mid-fur. I borrowed a bunch of my wife's gold chains for a Mr. T starter set and I was good to go.

I thought I'd cruise by the local diner first. That seemed like a typical place for desperate housewives to hang out. (If this didn't work I'd try the laundry-mat and the grocery stores next.) When I got inside I looked around. There were so many variations of my theme going on that I thought I was in an Elvis impersonator's convention. And what made it worse was that they seated us all in the former smoking section -- together.

So, I made the best of it. When I saw the waitress was approaching I furtively fluffed my chest fur. When she got there I suggestively wiggled my ears, stroked my slightly crooked fake mustache and said in my best Polish/beaner accent, "Hey there! Whot eese especial today bee-sides you?"

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