We live on a "busy" street. A main drag, if you will. It's not as noisy as it could be, but we also have two large pine trees the size of small sky scrapers, so they block the sound well. We've been working hard on redoing our office, creating Ikea-like pieces without actually buying expensive furniture from the store, and the only place we have to do such work is out where everyone can watch us in our driveway.
The downfall of living on such a street is that no Trick-or-Treaters come our way. The past three Halloweens have been huge letdowns.
Yesterday, while we were working on desks and tables and whatever it was we were working on, a skinny, well-tanned man, probably late-40's (or he was in his early-40's and he smokes and tanned...I'm guessing the latter) came up and was waving his free hand around (the other was holding his skinny Jukebox cell phone) asking, "Excuse me? Do you know what street we're on?"
Instantly, I was curious. He walked like he needed a small dog strapped inside a big Louis Vitton leather bag, using a stride that would give him hip dysplasia when he got older...if he wasn't already there. After telling him where we were located and what streets sandwiched the one he was one, he started acting like a little girl that just dropped a puppy and was all, "I think I'm on such and such road, which is between this road and that road!"
As he got all "Sweatin' To the Oldies" like Richard Simmons, he walked closer to Steph and I and demanded that I talk to the woman on the other end. As he thrust the doll-size phone into my face, I noticed he had 0n a diamond ring (much like my mom's wedding ring) that glistened in the sun. I also noticed that he had about ten gold bracelets jangling on his left wrist. His ears were both pierced with small, gold hoops and there were wrinkles around his lips, which made me think of a 90-year-old women that sucked on her dentures, just to keep them on her gums. He wore a tight-fitting white t-shirt with some kind of trendy thing silk-screened on it.
The woman on the other end, however, sounded pissed. Pissed like an angry man -- the type that eats Hungry Man dinners that have a pound of food cellophaned in them. Luckily, she sounded like she knew the area, so I handed the phone back to Richard Simmons because law, yes, he was saved because I helped the man (that belonged on the Las Vegas strip, right outside Circus Circus).
And then, he went next door to my neighbor's garage sale and bought some curtains.