I'm moving East for the summer.
Yep, over the course of next month, I'll be trundling essential stuff to a charming house in the East End, renting from and rooming with one very droll British gal.
I'm not relinquishing my NYC home. Never. But I plan to sublet it to downstairs neighbors while they undergo renovation.
I'll write stories from out there, which I've done essentially anyhow for the past two summers. I'll be blending two lines of work, but more about those in later posts.
After our handshake conversation, my roommate-lessor-to-be and I chatted about, well, men. I remarked that I happened to notice a couple of builder-contractor fellows in a delicatessen on Main Street in Bridgehampton. From behind.
She replied that she is fond of the sculptural appearance of men's derrieres. (Good girl, that.)
The fellows wore tan, canvas, cargo-style pants. Utility pockets, tool-belts, thick-soled boots, heavy jackets over thermal underwear (it was still chilly two weeks ago when I was out there last).
A familiar look among the year-rounders out there. A familiar look at the north Jersey Shore, too. My brother is a builder - of ridiculously enormous homes in Monmouth County - and that tends to be his work attire.
It reminded my of our high school days in the mid-1970s. The style among the cool boys was painter's pants. White painter's pants, close-fitting below the waist and butt, then somewhat baggy, with generous-sized pockets, and loops attached to the side seams. Construction workers' pants.
Some fellows wore denim versions.
Heck, I think I even owned a pair or two, rebel, pot-smoking, class-skipper that I was during the latter half of my high school career. And Oshkosh overalls. Never mind the National Honor Society - I wanted to be cool - and I think I was finally, by the time I was a senior.
The boys looked good in those britches. And the fellows today look just as good.
I think that may be the, ahem, diversion for this upcoming summer.
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