No, Ingen, Οχι, いいえ, Non...

On my way out to get lunch yesterday, I passed a guy in his car who wasn’t wearing a shirt.
The first question: where could he be going? Or, where could he be going that it would be appropriate to show up not wearing anything on the top half of his body? If we were near a shore town, maybe (and that’s a big maybe), it might happen that a man would need to get from one place to another fast and without his shirt. But on a sunny cool fall afternoon in Ottawa, I just don’t see the logic. I mean, he’s not going to a store or a restaurant because those kinds of places are clearly marked. You must wear a shirt. And shoes. It says so on the door.
So, is he going to a friends house? And if so, does he really want to show up half naked? What if he and his friend decide they want to go to the store? Or a restaurant?
Maybe he’s driving to a significant other’s house. And if that’s the scenario, shouldn’t he throw on a shirt anyway? For good manners? It says, “I respect you enough to assume we’re not just going to start making out as soon as I arrive at your apartment.” I suppose this guy wasn’t worried about manners. But maybe he should.
Perhaps it was the sun. Sunny day, no shirt. Though, I’ve seldom thought to myself: Wow, it would be a lot cooler in here if I just took off my top.
And this brings me to my next question. What is so laborious about putting on a shirt? I don’t see the hassle. I mean, I get it. Men have an advantage. They can walk around shirtless. They can pee outside. It must be very freeing, and I do not begrudge them of these perks (if you will). But I’ve never found the activity of pulling on a t-shirt tiresome. Just poke your head through the top there and place your arms in those holes at the side. Right. Then pull down over your torso. Great. Now you’ve got it.

Part of me wanted to follow this guy to see where he was going and what he was up to.


Popular posts from this blog


When I Was Your Age...

If Only I Had Super Powers...