Bored while waiting for a traffic light to turn green, I glanced at my rear view mirror and got an eyeful. Behind me, a middle-aged man in a gold, top-down convertible was brushing his hair while peering into his rear view mirror.
It was a long light, so I kept watching his reflection and was rewarded for my persistence. The next step in his beauty routine was to sweep his face with a fat, sable make-up brush. While I've never seen a man powder his visage outside of backstage preparations, as a fellow warrior in the battle against facial shine, I had to applaud his metro traffic/metrosexual prowess. But then came the capper. He took a swill from a green-colored bottle. Perrier? San Pellegrino? Scope? The answer was revealed by the way he began to vigorously swish the liquid back and forth inside of his inflated cheeks.
The light still red, I became rear view-riveted as I awaited the grand finale. It was a cocked head-lean over his closed driver's door, followed by an eruption of mouthwash mist spewing forth from his piehole.
Now, being a casual student of everyday physics, I am quite certain there is no way that ye olde whale spout technique could be performed without some serious blowback. Ewww!
The light snapped green, and the grooming session came to a close. I like to imagine the gold convertible groomer was prepping for a nooner with an alluring companion whose biggest turn-on consisted of a minty fresh matte finish. So L.A.
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