Well, anyhoo, here is where the rumor mill kicks in. Last night my son brought ne'er do well, A, home with him. I always hate it when they get together because they act like two year olds. A came into my room to talk about something, and sat on the foot of my bed. The next thing I know he's stretched out on the foot of my bed, staring at the ceiling fan. One wonders what he has been smoking.
Wouldn't you know it but here's when R walks in, my neighbor, and the one who introduced me to his good and bosom buddy, David. He sees A, mumbles something, and rushes out the door. My son finds this sort of behavior rude. I, myself, am used to it. This place is like OZ sometimes, in that people come and go extremely fast.
Later in the evening, I meet up with R, who tells me A had no business stretched out on the foot of my bed. I could have said the F.O. phrase. But I didn't, as I am an extremely nice and patient person. (Too nice and patient for my own good at times) I explained to R that A is like a two year old to me, while his dark eyes watched me skeptically. I explained that we were just talking, and I was comfortable within myself that nothing inappropriate had happened. (And secretly I'm hoping he turns it into the biggest scandal in the neighborhood, which will take a lot of work on his part, I must admit.) Deep down inside, I don't want to have a "boyfriend". I don't want all the hassle and bullshit that comes with the territory. I just want some one to hang out with sometimes. Not every damned day. Maybe twice a week or something.
Now, I ask you, gentle readers, what's wrong with that?
I kinda know how this poor man feels. You just never know what's going to happen.
Personally, I would have saw it as a gift from the Gods, and caught that sucker for Christmas dinner, but when a 25lb turkey flew through this 83 year old apartment dwellers 3rd story window, he called maintenance!! And what did they do? They threw it back out the window. I guess there's more than one way to kill a turkey.
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