And back again... Scotland (continued)

So, aside from the Edinburgh Dungeon, the museums, galleries, grand homes, and other touristy attractions I visited. I also had the opportunity to sing karaoke.

Scottish karaoke is a lot more pub-style sing-along than to which I am accustomed. And, there are certain songs and groups that are more popular in the UK than the US. So, Betsy and I sang Friday night in Glasgow at a pub we chanced upon with karaoke on our way back to the hotel.

Saturday night, in Edinburgh, we sang at a pub called the Ivanhoe (first pub found without a urinal trough).

Sunday night, we decided to try out the gay scene at CC Bloom's. We sat near the entrance drinking pints of Tennant's (beer). And, hark, what did I hear the drag queen announce from the other room?

You got it. Karaoke. Odd thing, I couldn't understand the drag queen, half the performers at the Edinburgh Dungeon, half the bar staff I encountered, and a fifth of the people who I passed. And yet, I can hear "karaoke" in any accent from 100 yards away. The Scottish brogue was so thick, I had quite a time asking people to repeat what they just said. For example, "currant squash" (pronounced krunskwa) is concentrated currant juice some people add to their ciders for an already bad tasting ale to taste like cough syrup diluted in a bad tasting ale. So, anyway, three nights of karaoke... I've obviously had a marvelous time.

I sat next to a gorgeous man in a blue pinstripe suit during the return flight. He had green/hazel eyes and a slight salt and pepper tinge to his brown high and tight hair. He was tan and had splendidly sinewy hands with big fingernail beds. He had probably shaved his arms/hands (and I can only assume everything else) last Thursday or Friday because the hair on his hands and wrist had the look of patchy and prickly new growth.

Before we took off, he was texting via Blackberry to his girlfriend (Kate E.) I counted 10 long texts before we shut the cabin door. I figured he had had a lot of sex the previous weekend. He was friggin' gorgeous, and whether or not he was making the sappy romantic lines up for the hell of it, he definitely had quantity over quality. Her picture (same as on her myspace page-yes, I'm that nosy and, yes, I looked her up) was his phone background picture.

"I miss you so much...I love your mind...No matter how far...I want to hold you...You mean so much...Our time together..." Blah blah blah...He sent 20 messages via the telephone/email system attached to the seat/video system, and each one of them he had to click through the alphabet via arrows for paragraphs of over-the-top romance at 40,000 feet. He repeatedly checked the inbox waiting for a reply from her. And yet, he didn't get any uglier. Well, that was until I noticed the skoal container and the diet coke bottle between him and the window. I cannot imagine having to kiss someone who chews tobacco. Smoking I can handle, but chew? And yet, somehow, he didn't get any uglier. Somehow the chew brought his all-too gorgeousness slightly back down to earth. The faults gave the angel that he obviously was an earthly mortal quality. There were 5 short texts after we landed (I assume she fell asleep reading all of his texts since it would have been 2am UK time).

I snuck peeks at everything he texted Kate E. and rolled my eyes every time. He would sometimes take a break from the love-texting to read an article in The Economist. How sexy is that?

Chew. Spit. Text. Spit. Read an article. Spit. Text. Spit. Repeat.