So this morning I get up to get in my truck. I am, as usual, balancing my water bottle, gym clothes (for some reason I only take out extra shirt and socks during the week. I use the same gym shorts – which creates this big pile of dirty gym clothes in the back seat – I don’t know why), lunch stuff and clicker. So it takes me a while to actual get in the truck.
I get the door open, and this white Land Rover (the discovery,not the big one) races down the street. My door is in his way, so I step back and close the door. No matter.
He has actually screeched to a stop at the house 1 up from us.
A little about that neighbor. He is a new guy. Nice enough. Gay and a PR person. I mean life, Edwina Monsoon PR type. PR PR . He is presently promoting an energy drink called (kid you not) GAY Fuel.
Well, he lives alone, but last night he had a friend. There was a blue Land Rover (the really little Freestyle) there all last night. Now maybe he wasn’t there (there is some GAY FUEL shin-dig this week) but maybe he was.
All I know is that the white Discovery stops, and out jumps an obviously annoyed boy. How do I know. Well, it is 7:30 on a cold morning, and the driver hops out “dressed” in a white bathrobe. That’s it. No shoes, no shorts (it was a floppy bathrobe), no service.
He marches out, and bangs on the door next door. There is discussion.
Here I fall down on my job – I admit it. I strain to listen, but it’s trash day and the beep beep beep of trucks throws me off.
Two seconds later he marches back to the Discovery followed by a golden lab, opens the back door and the lab jumps in. The lab, FYI, doesn’t live next door. He turns on his car, and then has to drive by me. I smile and wave.
He’s gay, so when a boy smiles and waves at you, you always have to wave back. It’s instinctual. So he does, floppy robe and all.