You know how women talk about rakes? How they ask their daughters to stay away from them? Well, I am one of those. And yet, they don’t suspect me at all. I get to touch them, play with their hair and sometimes I even lift their skirts. In fact most women love me. Some tell me that, my touch brings back good old memories to them. Well, who am I to deny these beauties what they crave?
I’ve got to say, not all women are lovely. There are some really grumpy old hags. And I don’t leave them alone either. Oh no, I don’t. I splash them with in-your-face bad odors of all kinds – rotten fish, garbage – you know the kind.But the dreamy ones; thank God for them. There is nothing in the world as beautiful as the eyes of a dreamy woman. They are my all time favorites. I play with their hair and I run my fingers along their arms and neck – you know, anything to tease a smile out of their lips.
Oh, I didn’t introduce myself, did I? I am the all phenomenal, omnipresent wind. At least, that is what these humans like to call me. But I am a rake. I am the definition of the word.
Wind, my foot.