John dropped into his chair and declared, “I’ve had it. I can’t take it any more. It’s disgusting and has to stop!”
“No argument from me, bro,” I agree. “This presidential campaign has dragged on way too long. And now the two candidates are questioning each other’s sanity.”
“Aren’t we all,” joins waitress Beverly. “They’re both crazy. But our Olympics Brazilian coffee Bourbon Santos will restore some straight thinking.”
“No, no, no,” groans John. “I’m talking about the Olympics. The clothing is ridiculous!”
“That’s the way fans dress for every sporting event these days,” informs Beverly as she filled our cups. The Olympic supporters are no different than the silly Green Bay Packers cheese heads.”
“Yeah, I liked the painful looking Washington Redskins Hoguettes before they retired and hung up their noses,” I recall nostalgically.
“No, I’m talking about the Olympic athletes! Haven’t you seen the games?” John presses. “There should be a dress code for athletes!”
“Well, the shooting teams are well protected,” I fire back.
“And the fencing gear hasn’t changed in years,” Beverly says pointedly.
“There’s shooting and fencing in Rio?” John asks amazingly.
“Oh oh,” I whisper and sip my coffee. “Here we go.”
“What have you been watching that upsets you?” Beverly sits at our table.
“The women’s beach volley ball uniforms. I can barely watch,” John growls.
“Barely is the operative word,” I nod.
“It’s hot on the beach,” Beverly corrects.
“But the men are fully clothed,” John counters. “Does the temperature drop when the guys play?”
That’s a good point,” I concede carefully. “But I feel a chill developing here.”
“And what about the women track stars?” John continues.
“Girls just wanna have fun,” Beverly intones.
“Hm…yes…I did notice the lipstick, makeup and false eyelashes,” I smile.
“But the girl’s gymnastics and the female divers?” John pursues briefly.
“Do you object to the men’s tiny swimming trunks or the male divers’ speedos?” Beverly presses.
“Well,…uh…I didn’t notice that, but…”
“And you watched the women how long before you reached your conclusion?” Beverly removes John’s coffee cup but refills mine.
“There is no good reply to that question, John,” I caution. “Don’t even try.”
“It took a few days, true, but…”
“So after hours of critical observation you don’t mind the men’s tiny trunks but you object to how the women dress?” Beverly warms.
“I…think….I mean…it’s…it’s all about gender equality,” stumbles John.
“Oh, so close, so close, but…” I shake my head.
“Then we should turn the other cheek, right?” Beverly suggests.
“I think cheeks are what John has been talking…”
“You’re right, John, now I see the light. It is about male and female parity,” Beverly acknowledges.
“Uh, I don’t have any skin in this game,” I say fearfully.
“Yes, yes. In 2020 we should strip the Olympics of discriminatory, sex-specific clothing,” Beverly takes up her cause and the coffee pot.
“Wait, I didn’t mean…” tries John.
“We’ll require both sexes to dress identically. I’d like to see that. The women already have set the fashion trend so in four years we’ll see both men and women wearing…”
“No, no, no,” pleads John.
“Glad we had this talk,” Beverly pats John on the shoulder. “And when you leave your tip, don’t be skimpy.”