The time I met a Supermodel. Hint: It did not go well.

Unfortunately, I did not make a good first impression.

I was dirty from working on moving and cleaning my apartment. I was wearing some olive green pants which featured a big stain on one thigh.

We were all in my friend's kitchen. There were two young lady models there. They were visiting my friend's brother who was a male model of some note.

My friend and I were talking about going to a dirt-track sprint car race. My friend, who was bound by all sorts of rules pertaining to looking cool, later informed me that this was considered anti-social. I found that somewhat dubious, but do acknowledge that winged sprint cars on high-banked dirt are probably not at the top of the wish list for most hot models.

Just trying to make conversation, I asked one of these very special young ladies where she lived.

She looked me up and down, noting the big stain on my pants. Then she replied with an interesting non-sequitur, "I only wear leather."

Okay, I guess I'm not coming over.

Apparently, according to my friend's rules, I should have told her that I am hosting the Ferrari after-party on my yacht which is moored in the Monaco harbor. The stain is from an emergency rebuild of a Formula One engine after the team's mechanics could not figure it out. They flew me in on the Concorde. I do this in my spare time away from training polo ponies in Argentina. That is, when I am free from buying-up most of the world's rare masterworks of art at private auctions in New York and London.

And by the way, she was wearing a white silk blouse and black leather pants, a testament to her partial truthfulness in matters of daily dress.

What a liar.

(Photo from Pixabay)