If I recall correctly, the last time I went bare chested was during the summer of 2005, when the reflective paleness of my skin was the cause of a small beach fire and the impaired vision of three unsuspecting bystanders. Since then, to avoid similar accidents from happening, I’ve done the good thing and accepted that I should never remove my shirt, least of all in public.
There’s a saying: if something is found to be delicious, Americans have tried eating it for breakfast. Supposedly consuming any food first thing in the morning is fair game in the good old US of A, even cookies, which are considered a completely acceptable way to start the day–although only when covered in whole milk. They might have been rebranded “Cookie Crisp” and marketed as cereal, as not to arouse the suspicion of health conscious consumers, but the resemblance is surely unmistakable. Then there are Lucky Charms, of course, which were around in UK for a while (we can only hope they never found their way to Ireland), before somebody must have noticed that they were feeding their children marshmallows and e-numbers for breakfast, and then they disappeared faster than they had arrived.
As I travelled by car though the dusty boondocks, on towards Kissimmee, I passed an old wooden sign that read: “Rabies shot $5”. Below the text, crudely scribbled in permanent marker pen, was an arrow pointing towards a tiny ramshackle hut made of corrugated metal and a few bits of soiled cardboard, presumably there for decorative, rather than structural, purposes. Then no more than thirty yards down the road stood a gun club, its unavoidably large emblem assuring sceptical drivers that the business was “100% owned and operated by gun enthusiasts!”.