A Brit in the US

I had a telephone call. It was a deep, husky but alluring voice inviting me to go for a walk. With invitations like that, what man can say no? It was the voice of Dorothy. I readied myself with the speed that only a man can. No need to primp and preen - men don't need lipstick nor eye-shadow not mascara. We face the world as we are - whether the world is ready or not. I slipped into a pair of jeans and a comfy polo shirt - I'd been lounging at home in my lounging at home jeans and tee-shirt (the kind of clothes that one really shouldn't be seen out in lest one be considered a hobo). I grabbed my camera and climbed into my SUV. Starting the engine of my SUV empties a small Persian oilfield and I'm sure there can't be very many left by now.  20 pollution belching minutes later I was at Dorothy's house, ready to go. Needless to say, she still had her nails to paint and her cosmetics to apply. She wasn't even quite dressed when I arrive, having stepped