Buttocks are richer Botox

Golden undies

Whilst I was out shopping for canes and mobile phone deals, I could not help but noting the number of billboards that now have David Beckham (Golden Balls) modelling Emporio Armani briefs.

Now, some advertising executive might think he has me on his demographic, I am afraid, only Sloggis do it for me and if you modelled them on cows, it would not make any difference to the fact that they provide in the mode, adequate support for the crown jewels.

Cheap undies

I had hardly walked up a shopping street when I came across a group of teenage boys all dressed up to their trendy nines with trousers hanging down the wrong place that I cursed under my breath – Young man pull up your trousers, I cannot stand the sight of your cheap and tattered underwear.

It is interesting to read that 1 in 5 men now go for Botox treatments, it really makes you wonder; I can handle a massage, a facial, a manicure and even hazard a pedicure.

Irksome Metrosexuals

If only someone with big fat and flabby buttocks would sit on their faces and aerate their clogged pores with bombastic flatulence – that would be Botox for free and probably healthier – they are called Metrosexuals, I hear.

So, as I was getting off the metro, the “man” in front of me who looked like he had Schwarzenegger muscles got up and made for the door with a handbag slung over his shoulder and bag handles that looked like something off Margaret Thatcher’s Salvatore Ferragamo hand bag.

Men with handbags, what next?

How I withheld the impulse of putting my good foot into his backside to shake the metro off his sexual vaunt, escapes me, I would have giggled with glee as he scraped the ground for the cuticle treatment that would have been damaged by breaking his fall and his hair flopped over his face like a Dulux dog – I know what I like about people, but that does not include those who leave me confused about the sex of the person.

Metrosexual – My foot! I should apply for a job in one of those men’s beauty parlours and make all their cheeks rogue-red with a decent oxy-acetylene torch – What is this world coming to? I ask.