Okay then, my name is, as
you may have guessed, Undertoad, D Undertoad and I’m from San Diego which is in
the southwest corner of Southern California, for the geographically challenged
among you, just before the geography turns into Mexico. I’m neither tall nor
blonde, and, to make matters considerably more confusing, I enunciate my
consonants, fer sure, fer sure.
I used to be tall and blond.
6’4” of blond surfer flesh; riding the waves, flipping forelocks and all.
I am not now tall and not
blond and not in San Diego
The tale of why I look
the way I do and where I am is a sad one.
At least, I think so.
You might not.
I look the way I do now,
because my wife… my ex-wife, had me altered. Tall blondness, she explained,
later, after I came out of the anesthesia; she said tall and blond did not
match her curtains, her bed spreads, the décor of ‘our’ (hah) house. Turns out, her plastic surgeon was
cheaper than getting the house re-done, or some such. I wasn’t really
listening. All I know is that I had fallen asleep on the way to her plastic
surgeon’s office – she’d said something about needing her super-structure
tweaked and wanted me to accompany her – and dutiful husband that I am …was... I did. Anyway, I fell asleep in the car. (Now
that I think about it, that sandwich had tasted kinda funny.) and when I woke, there I was, a bespoke, long
haired leaping gnome, lean, mean and no-need for sunscreen; albeit quite a bit shorter than I used to be. It seems
She-whose voice-is-all-terrible. all 4’10” of her, had decreed that my 6’4”
tallness was playing hob with her neck, all that craning upwards to glare at me
was keeping her chiropractor in the high tax brackets. I’m not entirely sure
how she convinced the surgeon to breach all medical ethics and…oh, wait…
tweaked…superstructure damn, I thought that meant minor surgical procedure… and,
as I now recall, the interior decorator had been gay. (Oh man, I wish I’d
figured that out earlier, the divorce wouldn’t have been nearly as expensive.)
Anyway...I don’t fully understand that neck strain business. I mean, I seem to
remember spending most of my married life on my knees, especially when I was with
She-who-must-be-obeyed. Oh okay, I kinda liked the dog collar and leather bra/thong
outfit that she insisted I wear. but still… And, I have
to admit that the bed spread did look much better with me on it; my naked self,
my brown, uptown, rampant self, in stunningly ginormous contrast to the pastels
and delicate shapes that are, by state law, part of décor palette of the SoCal
suburban housewi…domestic engineer. In Re: ginormous. I’m not entirely sure, my
memory is a bit hazy on the issue, but, I think that some of my previous height,
and girth, had been used to add some length and substance to parts of me I
don’t recall being as fat or as long, or as dark. A pre-operative pink
smallness is what I seem to remember. I imagine the present pigmentation was part
of the overall process – where was I? Oh yes, naked rampant dark glory, which
was in magnificent...that really is the only word... contrast to pastels...delicate
SoCal shapes... Although, now that I think on it, I probably shouldn’t have had
those photographs taken… turns out, photographs of rampant dark glories, no
matter how aesthetically pleasing, can be used as evidence of moral turpitude
in divorce proceedings. How was I to know that She, the devil’s advisor, would
subpoena Uncle Ed of Uncle Ed’s Exotic Photography and Escort Service, who testified
that I had paid the extra charge to have, Trixie, the photographer and her two
lighting assistants, Bubbles and Candi, with an ‘I’ to be, um, dishabille,
nude, sans clothing, naked.. (reverie) Hey! The guy at Uncle Ed’s assured me
that that is how all the great models, the super models, did it, it’s called
mood setting, among the pros.. I wanted the photos to be a tribute to
what’s-her-name’s artistic eye. I mean, she’s the one who noticed the lean,
mean, motoring machine that you see in front of you, under all those layers of
tall blond SoCal-ness. I wanted her to know, in unequivocal terms, that she was
right, dark chocolate is where it is at, much tastier.
Okay, all right, I’m
kidding … there was only one assistant. Candi and she was a specialist lighting
tech. For one thing she didn’t have any lights. As it was explained to me, she
used the natural lighting to arrange the subject to best affect. She was good
at her job too. I mean, when she was adjusting bits and pieces of me...that
touch...soft...delicate...educated. Hey, she was just doing her job, ok? And I
think it was unfair that stained bedcovers can be used as evidence. Okay, it
was a large, one might even say copious, stain, but it would have dried soon
enough.
Okay. None of that is
true; except for the ginormous part. As we all know, what men are born with is
what we have to live, and love, with. This might be a matter of some regret for
some of us. Good night and thank you for listening.
