Velociworld

Pinwheels

Everyone has their pet peeves. Their crotchets, their bugbears. Things that drive them crazy. Things that bring inexplicable indignation rising like coarse fresh bile in their throat. To me, it's pinwheels.

Yes, the innocuous pinwheel, or, as it is more properly known, a horizontal-axis active wind collector. Why? I have no idea. Wasn't fondled by a pinwheel as a child. Never had an argument with one. In fact, I applaud their collective reticence. Nor do I have class issues with cheap plastic. No, I think the issue lies deeper. Subterranean.

I believe it has to do with masculinity, and false machismo. Everything, actually, to do with the fact that I recollect being 4, 5, 6 years old, and seeing pinwheels in my neighbors' yards, and being fascinated by them. Hell, to a guy that's not much different than recollecting being fascinated by seeing a grown man's penis at the age of 5. It ain't right!

I really wasn't going to share this pinwheel abhorrence with you, but I'm a stand up guy. Meaning I share my neuroses with you in the hope that you'll share yours with me. But please use the email address, femmes. And address it to Pindaddy1, if you would. Thank you.