I was minding my own business, typing away, after all the workmen left yesterday.
I was immersed, in the zone, when I heard a knock at the window. I turned to find a smiling fellow gesturing for me to come outside. He had a full head of white hair, a rather large round belly and rosy cheeks. Yes, he looked like Santa, but in shorts.
As soon as I opened the door he exclaimed, "You sweet, sweet people. Your lighting is such a mess. You sweet, sweet people." I get it, he's the lighting guy Husband called. I wasn't sure why we were sweet. "Do you have a minute?" I thought to myself, not really, but, "Sure," I reluctantly replied. He walked me around the front lawn and showed me the lights that were not working and again, exclaimed, "You are sweet, sweet people."
I really wanted to get back inside to finish writing, I was on a roll. "What were you so intent on reading at the computer?" Why I didn't make something up I have no idea. "I was writing. I freelance." I kid you not, he threw his arms up in the air, ran to his truck and gave me three articles his daughter had published in some Tel Aviv papers. I swear to you I did not ask any questions, but stood contemplating a break for the door when he began telling me about his three girls, his divorce and then he cried, twice.
Sometimes I wonder, is there a sign above my head, "Psychiatric Help, The Doctor is in?"
 |
| Via WhollyGastromony.com |
No comments:
Post a Comment