It’s a beautiful Friday afternoon here in sunny Orlando, Florida. I’m sitting outside Crooked Bayou, one of my favorite places to eat and throw back a Guinness.

Sitting at a sidewalk table, typing on a laptop, makes you invisible after a time (and a few pints). Kimmy still knows I’m here, but to the rest of the world, I have become part of the background.

I can listen in to conversations with impunity, watch people walk and drive by and enjoy seeing people enjoy their lives and each other’s company. It’s very nice. Usually.

I’m always confounded by pretty girls. Most of them work very hard at being pretty, and yet there seems to be in a inverse ratio of work spent beautifying oneself to appreciation of having the results be admired. A lovely blond woman is walking down the street, and it’s clear that she spent a lot of time on her hair, makeup, clothing and the rest of what makes up “her look.” Yet, as I look over her look, she looks on me with contempt and some measure of disgust.

This isn’t why she went to all of that trouble? To be noticed? Am I wrong here? I wasn’t leering, drooling, wagging my tongue or masturbating as she walked by. I was merely admiring the results of her efforts. Other times, I’m seeing where they should have put the pencil down. Most women, IMO, are beautiful without any help. God gives you one face and you give yourselves another, the bard said.

So I question this reaction. I ask aloud “What is so wrong with admiring an attractive person?” And before I know what has happened, my “wha’ happen?” becomes a banner that reads “PIG!” And really, the issue is that the effort is not for me, and as such, I have no right to enjoy it.

Well, like the sunshine, blue sky and an afternoon at the Crooked Bayou, beauty is for all to enjoy.