I’ve had my suspicions all along. Well, maybe not suspicions, but d’ruthers. What are d'ruthers? An example: “I met this new guy on match and he’s pretty cool but I d’ruther he looked like Colin Farrell.” Like that, the d’ruthers.
Anyway, my property sits across an alley from four businesses, very manly, testosterone-filled businesses. There’s a place that sells meat machines, a plumbing supply store, a pool table/trophy store, and on the corner is a speed shop. I love the speed shop. The old cars they restore and display in the showroom remind me of my Grandpa, who restored this beauty all by himself with only his own two hands and Saturdays free for junkyard scavenging.
A 1959 Ford Skyliner Retractable hardtop.
So yeah, lots of manly businesses behind my house means there are lots of manly people around and every one of them could be bndtXX. Using my powerful powers of deduction, however, I’ve narrowed it down to just a few possibilities. One such possibility is the son of the owner of the plumbing supply. He’s a cutie, and very friendly. He has helped me dig out my garage in the winter and even bought a couple things for his sister at my last yard sale. He drives a sweet motorcycle and has a rough look – dark clothing, leather, a chain on his wallet – and is incredibly personable. But I don’t think it’s him. He once mentioned that he doesn’t drink and he’s seen us partaking in my back yard on several occasions. Besides, I think he’d be direct and just ask me out if he were interested.
I’ve never seen anyone in or around the meat machine store. Hey, do you think it’s a front for something else? Even if it isn’t, I’m telling people it is because it sounds cool.
The only interaction I’ve had with the guys at the pool table/trophy store was while I was passing out lost cat flyers when Skylar ran away. I had been crying for two days and was still weepy when I talked to them. It isn’t them.
Oh yeah, I almost forgot the super creepy guy who used to stand in the street at the end of the alley and watch me leave for work every day. But I don’t think it’s him either. The note was well-written and that guy was a mouth breather.
This leaves the owner of the speed shop who, in my mind, has always been the lead suspect. He is well-spoken and seems very level-headed. I’ve had enough interaction with him to know that he’s a good guy. In fact, during the Kenny and Louise Happy Hour in June, he diffused a very loud domestic incident by sending the two people involved to opposite sides of the street. He’s a peacemaker; he’s going to inherit the Earth, which isn’t a bad future.
When I made the decision to start riding Marlys (my bike) again I knew the first step on my long road to health was airing up her tires. I had successfully put it off for a very long time until one day last week when the mower died right in the middle of cutting the grass. No gas. I had to walk down to 7-11 anyway so I took Marlys with me.
As I walked past the speed shop, which is on my way to 7-11, the owner was standing just outside the bay door talking to some other guy about his car. I crossed the street, filled my gas can, and walked over to the air machine. I fiddled around getting the valve caps off my tires and just as I was about to deposit my 75 cents into the machine, he walked up and said, “I’ve got air at the shop if you want some.”
Can you believe it, people? Free air! He offered me free air. On top of that, he presented the free air at a time when I was red-faced, smelly and wearing dirty old sweatpants.
I think he's bndtXX. And if he isn’t, I think I d’ruther he was. He told funny stories about the neighborhood drunk (not me!) while he worked on my tires. I'd like to report that I was charming and demure. Even less than that, I'd like to be able to tell you that I conversed intelligently with him, but sadly I stood there and giggled (guffawed) like a schoolgirl (an idiot.)
9 comments:
Geez I dunno... little notes? This on the heels of an article I read about singles text-ing each other invites and accepts/refusals. I'm kind of glad I am not of this era. My wife was checking my groceries when I asked her to dinner and the rest, as they say...
Not sure I like this method.
From the sounds of those busineses near you I think it could be one of several fine gentleman: Lenny, Squiggy or the Big Ragoo.
Start digging- find out what you can about him, maybe make sure you ride Marlys by his place all the time.
Hey- maybe you'll get a cool old car out of the deal.
"A smart lady knows when to properly pimp herself out for free stuff."
-Taken from "Miss Manners guide for the 30-something that likes a nice cocktail, a nice piece of ass and a nice plate of nachos every now and again."
Great book. Highly recommended.
Wow. If this happened to me (the note) I don't even know what I would do, I would be so beside myself with utter glee. I mean, WOW! What a note!
But then he'd inevitably one day try to engage me in conversation and I would likely a) talk at a volume that a normal conversation should not be held at b) sweat like a damn mutant with a sweat gland disorder c) curse too often and d) say something extremely off-color, trying to be funny.
You know, it's probably a good idea this sort of thing happens to you and not me.
Anyway you can get a sample of his hand writing?
Anything I can do to help? I live for this shit Gwen. Secret admirers and love connections (insert big girly squeal of joy here).
That's so romantic and mysterious! I've always wanted to be mysterious...I am many things, but mysterious is not one of them. I'm with the lady who doesn't lunch -- see if you can score a handwriting sample!
$5 it's from Albert Pujols
Isn't not knowing more fun? Unless he's a hardened criminal prone to stabbing. IN that case, it'd be really good to know.
Love all of this. And what the fuck is a meat machine?
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