Sandshoes and Cinnamon

sandshoesGroover has bought some new sandshoes. Or to be more accurate, I have bought him some new sandshoes. It had to be done.

His last pair – note those stylish ones behind the gleaming new white ones – were bought in 1992. And he has worn them every year since. Sure he only puts them on once or twice a year and the rubber crystalised from age but they did last well.

In fact apart from the back-to-the-future-flashdance-esque-black-speckledy-trim – they are not that much different.

Except that now, I will be seen dead with him wearing sandshoes – his new ones.

Carol has asked me to relate the Cinnamon Roll story Armistead Maupin told when he spoke at the Octogon Theatre lately… it’s a little R-rated so children… turn away now!

Apparently Armistead had a friend – gay friend – who wanted to check he was not hetero. So he “went down” on a female friend who nervously had sprayed herself with a cinnamon scent. Afterward he was so traumatised by the whole affair that he could never bear the smell of cinnamon rolls and felt physically ill when he smelt them in malls and airports… something like that anyway. Sorry Carol – he tells it better. 🙂 So much so that now whenever I hear the term or see a cinnamon roll… I’m not thinking pastries.