A fly-by-day encounter...
So... I’m walking into a Wal-Mart in Florida, and striding toward me is a guy in brown shorts (they wear shorts down here in March, but brown?), his fly gaping open like a… well…like a barn door.
It can happen. Speaking for all men, I can safely state that when it does, you want to know. So I walk right up to this 60ish fellow, engage his surprised gaze and, when he stops, I whisper simply, “Your fly.”
“What?” he says, bending an ear toward me.
“Your fly.” That is all.
“Oh, thank you, I’m glad to know that.”
“Yeah, I’d want to know, too,” I said as I walked on toward the auto lube department where they were taking three hours to change the oil on my car. This was, perhaps, at the two-hour point.
So I had to wander around the Wal-Mart for another hour, not a happy prospect, but what can you do? Well, you can people watch.
I was doing just that as I passed my brown-shorted, fly deficient friend again. He was looking over some merchandise and as I passed I noticed a flash of white you know where. I let it go this time.
Things are different here in Florida, I ruminated as I strolled on, discreetly checking the status of a certain zipper on my own shorts. -- Jim Heffernan
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