I’m walking through the Park, east to west. There’s a sexy, young fellow shirtless, sitting on a bench in the Indian summer sun, stroking a long-haired German Shepherd.
I smile and say, “Wow, that’s what I call handsome.”
The man, his chest gleaming with 18 coats of suntan oil, smiles back. “Why thank you,” he says, “nothing like a tan, is there?”
“I meant the dog,” I say, giggling.
To his credit, he giggled too.
Nothing like a guy (and a dog) with a sense of humor.