I can't believe it, but I forgot to blog about this picture.
|Ain't that the truth.|
Amazing really, because I could understandably make 6 or 8 blog posts about this picture. But I'll just go ahead and do one.
Just one post, to explain why THIS picture, sums up 1/2 of Amsterdam's population.
I saw this picture in Amsterdam, on my way to eat dinner at Humphy's. I laughed, a shrill, loud and unattractive cackle and pointed at the sign. "Ain't that the truth!" I squealed in delight at the sign as I shamelessly pulled out my camera to capture the moment for eternity to come. I saw in my immediate eye sight at least 5 boys (men? hardly.) furrow their perfectly plucked brow, as if I'd hurt their feelings.
"You'll get over it." I thought. But then again, maybe he wouldn't. He'd be the type that in a few months he's lying on his back in a shrink's office, sobbing, "and then she took a picture! And she said, 'Ain't that the truth!' in a shrill and garish voice!"
"And how does that make you feel?" asks the psychiatrist.
"TERRIBLE! I can't sleep! I can't eat! I nearly missed my hair appointment the other day because I was too miserable, remembering the event like it were yesterday."
As I finished stowing away my camera, still laughing inwardly, I marched on. I heard a whistle to my left. I looked at the source, it was a man(ish), leaning his head mournfully against the side of the building, whistling "My Heart Will Go On" by Celine Dion.
My Heart Will Go On by Celine Dion.
Now that I think on it, I might even recall a lone tear, trickling down the side of his spotless cheek.
'Oh but Grace, aren't you being hard on these boys? Why don't you give them more respect?' You say.
And maybe you're right. Maybe I should just lay aside my prejudices and be kind. Shake their hands, ask them about their day. But then again, I'd be worried about bruising their moisturized digits, with my work-a-day hands, and what if I ask in the wrong way? What if I say it in a way that makes them think that I think they look sad, then I'd hurt their feelings, because they know that sad faces are not cute faces!
No, I'd better just stick with what I've got going on.
I think I'll just continue to snicker inwardly as I watch from afar as they brush their perfectly feathered hair from obstructing my view from their glassy eyes. As they gaze at themselves in the windows of the buildings that they walk by, savoring the portrait as if it were as original and timeless as the Mona Lisa. As they shift uncomfortably in their skinny jeans and adjust the top inch or two of their spendy, Calvin Clein boxer briefs, so that when they do the "bend and snap" everyone will have a clear view of them and think, 'He's got it going ON!'
No, I think that what I have is just right.
With all my heart,