my mother is a realist

hello again friday or shall i say Gingerday. it is good to have friday back and friends back and i hear a Guinness calling me and LAF. first round is on him for having me on about contador doping; second is on him for dropping me on every single climb wednesday afternoon and third too for looking so damn good in lycra.

last night i told my mom about the man who stopped to wish me luck racing the thunderstorm and she was less than impressed. she suspected him of nefarious intentions perhaps similar to those of the gentleman who presented at the kitchen door yesterday afternoon. this rugged stranger was wearing of the same black crocs that D wears and i wondered whether he had eaten D's brain and stolen of the crocs but a moment's thought dismissed my fears because anyone who steals of the crocs cannot be too bright in the first place and will be easily overcome by a small skillet or surprise wedgie.

the wearinger of the croc explained that he and his wife had gone splitsville (is this contagious?) and he was looking for a place to live -- not to buy, for in 11 years if he should live so long god willing he planned to retire and live on a boat -- just a place to rent, maybe a place that needed some fixing up, which he'd be glad to do in exchange for rent of course, and was there anyone living next door?

- next door? you mean bill dupont's?
- HE lives there?
- yep.
- oh. i guess there wouldn't be room for two then. croc-man has flummoxed me. he wishes to rent the dupont castle but worries there might not be room? i have seen this before, where the wearing of the crocs drops the IQ logarithmically.
- um i don't know. you could ask, i guess. am i wearing of the crocs?
- is he home? - he cocks his head at the carriage house. the proverbial lightbulb goes off.
- oh, mr. dupont doesn't live there. you want to live in my carriage house?? - i titter. lucien bring the car around; the queen and i are having tea. croc-man looks at me blankly.
- is it livable?
- if you're a mouse. but honestly, i'm just a caretaker and i'm ninety, no ninety-nine percent sure the owner isn't interested in fixing up or renting that place.
croc-man is downcast. dashed are his dreams of living in the woods, living off small rodents and edible berries, and wearing elephant leaves.

- he was probably casing the joint. you should have told him to bugger off as soon as he opened his mouth. having spent her formative years in the criminal justice system's Victim Witness Assistance unit, my mom works off a decidedly different zeitgeist. she counseled rape victims; i took puppydogs for walks.
- mom, he was just a poor guy down on his luck.
- he had a story you bought hook, line & sinker.
- mommmmm.
- just keep your eyes open, that's all.
- o.kay.

happy GingerDay! keep your eyes open and be careful of bridges.