Scandal

Seriously...where's Waldo?

It got cold out, and I guess that means all the hot Waldo action is now buried deep beneath sweaters and coats and scarves.

Last weekend, I went to New Orleans and thought for sure I'd see one. It was, after all, supposed to be in the mid-50s. Mother Nature said, "No dice," and an Arctic blast ruined that sweet, sweet dream. I did, however, see just the edge of a beautiful red and white-striped shirt as it peeked out scandalously from beneath a pea coat. I felt aroused the way a man on the beach in 19th century felt when he saw women's ankles in broad daylight for the very first time. Yeah, I'm sick.