The Maturity of A Sixteen Year-Old

We joined our friends on St. Patrick’s for a fish and chips fondue and Bailey’s Irish ice cream that my girlfriend made from scratch. Despite the green eyeshadow, I was decidedly un-Irish with my Strongbow preference throughout the evening while everyone else drank beer like Guinness and Kilkenny.

I kept laughing spontaneously however, as the night progressed, and each time I was asked what I was laughing about I refused to answer until the last time I was asked and I began to laugh even harder as I tried to describe this:


I’d seen this photos days earlier and every time I thought of it (often at random and inappropriate times), I laughed. Because it’s funny. And my hysterical description did not do the photo justice and once I’d composed myself (with much difficulty) I began to try and figure out where I’d seen the photo. And could not recollect.

“How do you even Google that?” I questioned, terrified by what a search might potentially bring up.

Within minutes, Tay had found the photo, fearless is he in his online search of running shorts and guys jutting from them.

Sometimes (but not often), I have the maturity of a 16 year-old. This was one of those times.

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