The Babe Magnet (In Dialogue)

“Call me old-fashioned but I like my pants clean, pressed and swishing.”

“You’re old-fashioned.”


“You’re very welcome, gramps.”

“There’s nothing wrong with looking and feeling smart.”

“And there wasn’t in the seventies, either, eh?”

“Cheeky sod.”

“Look, I’m telling you this as your friend, purple velour pants and an orange crinoline shirt’s only gonna get you one thing.”

“A date?”

“A beating.”

“So you’re saying I should compromise.”

“I’m saying you should change, it’s different.”

“But this is me.”

“I refer you to my previous statement.”

“You said you liked them.”

“On a muppet.”

“Goddamn it!”

“No need for that. We can soon sort you out. I’ll lend you something fabulous. Something of mine. Top draw stuff.”

“But I don’t want to look like you. And stop winking.”

“Kid, you’ll never look like me.”

“I’m a year older than you.”

“Potato potahto. You leave it to me.”

Fifteen minutes later

“I love it.”

“Black leather never fails. The bright red Nikes set them off, the gold chain finishing the ensemble. You’re a babe magnet.”

“You think so?”

“Sure do. Where’re you going, anyway?”

“Seventies disco.”


 Flaunt your effervescence
 Dandy, peacock fool,
 For I shall treat you with disdain.
 Acting like I should know you,
 Personifying cool as you do,
 Strutting, colluding with the know-hows,
 Creating falsehoods.
 I do not care,
 For I shall deem not to know you;
 Pretend to not register your name;
 Remain indifferent to your presence,
 And curse your every foppish stance.
 I shall wait for perfunctory introductions,
 Then raise my nose and walk away,
 As those about me wonder,
 ‘What was he doing in that mirror?’

 Image courtesy