life on the hill – illusion v. harsh reality

The Fool’s usual garb for working on the Hill is a disgrace – torn jeans (work-torn, not surgically cut and frayed in some high-fashion shop), ancient baggy (and permanently dirty) T-shirts, a polyester mechanic’s smock in a vile green shade, work boots from the general store.

I don’t care.

Indeed, between you and me, in my more delirious moments I even entertain illusions of affecting a certain floppy-chic sexiness.

That is, I used to. But then I overheard a conversation (its tone carefully pitched, I am certain, to be accidentally overheard) between the Princess and her Grandmother – “I see Father as a perfectly lovely gentleman, like Grandfather was, always smelling of lavender, in a tweed jacket and a smart tie. There’s nothing sadder than those old men trying to look young in T-shirts …”

So much for sexiness, then. I only wonder if the hint was meant to be acted upon as of now, or if she will allow me another year or two of sweet illusion.