My grandmother used the word “Peculiar”.
But did he really do it?
Our Grandmothers must have gone to the same school.
I've always promised to never use negative terms such as Barbie hugging Broadway-showgirl tootsie-roll-eating lizard worshiper, a brown-wind-loving pole pushing vacuum-lipped anal warrior, a carrot-swallowing poodle owning skipping little hotdog-eater, a chalk-licking lavender sniffing cheeky merrymonkey pole-vaulter, a cigar smoking giggling little donut-puncher, a Crisco-hoarding, rainbow-prancing, Fucsia Puffed batty boy, a feminine-acting, stick-twiddling parade-marching ball-juggler, a gerbil-feeding flower sniffing rainbow-squatting bottoms-up boy, a giggling little donut-puncher, a glitter-loving tail-tickling Cleveland Steamer pooftah, a ham-slamming organ grinder, a latte-swilling, boy-texting pump-a-loaf bread-boffer, a limp-wristed prancing knob-jockey , a loafer-lightening grass-tickling pounder of fudge, a merrily-hopping NPR-listening musical-favoring chin-trauma patient, a merry delicate lightly-prancing dress-favoring protein-burper, a pearl-necklace adorned tumblebunny, so I wouldn't stoop to calling them names.
And back in the day whole society would not tolerate that kind of thing.
My mama would have called him a “confirmed bachelor.”