Hey! Last Friday I was cutting the grass and some sort of SUV-ish vehicle went around the block and paused in front of our place...then they came around again...so I stopped my lawn-tending to say "Can I help you folks?" Was concerned that it was going to (another) case of "We'll give you 500 bucks to go to Indian Lake with us for the weekend," as happens CONSTANTLY.
Turned out that Phil (that's his lovely wife Karen at left) grew up in our li'l shitbox! I was all "Dude, let's take a tour!" He'd not been in the house since moving in 1959!
These people have fifteen cats on their land up northways, so a common bond was firmly established...
Old Phil got downright moved as he saw rooms where he played and slept and such.
"This was my bedroom...my little sister slept in here with my folks..."
He also got a right whippin' [outside the bathroom door] for making a dummy from a pair of jeans and a shirt and throwing it onto the street from the bedroom window, just in time to shock the hell up out of his mom! Quel rascal!
The most exciting part for me was that he had SURVIVED living in our house.
Exciting, until I saw...he cast no shadow.
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