When I lived in the city, whenever I looked out the window, I could always count on something exciting happening outside: Furio hosing down the sidewalk for the 100th time. An inebriated neighbor shooting a bebe gun at Joe C’s dog for sniffing around his tomato plants. And let’s not forget about those midnight stoop parties during gas leaks. Now that I am a surburbanite, the only thing I see when I look out the window are our retired neighbors Lou & Nancy going to and from dinner.
That said, please try to reserve judgment on how I just spent the past 30 minutes of my life.
A man in black spandex pants and a yellow windbreaker has been skipping past the house all week long. I’ve assigned him a creative nickname: Skipper. I’ve never seen such a sight before: A grown man in a full-on skip. He’s definitely engaged in some kind of workout but man it is goofy looking. Is this some new exercise trend? If so, it’s even more ridiculous-looking than that speedwalking craze from the 90s. I wonder if he only does this during the day because everyone’s at work? That way, he can be as free and sprightly as he pleases without busybodies like me peering at him from behind their living room curtains.
Anyway, I just spent the past 30 minutes in the Cream Shop trying to catch Skipper on video with my digicam. He’s gone by three times now but I can’t get close enough without him catching me in the act. And I don’t think I’m strong enough to handle how much of a loser I’d feel like if that happened.
I tried to use Paulie as a pawn, pretending to take his picture so I could get Skipper in the background but the picture is too blurry when I zoom in. Alas, he’s clearly finished his work out for today and I’ve got to get back to work anyway. I hope to post a video of Skipper soon, however, so you can share in the overwhelming excitement.
3 comments:
Last summer, Cameo and I were looking to get some fresh air with a "nice walk" around Castle Island. We invited WMD, who was hesitant at first b/c he assumed that we were going to "power walk" (imagine giant radio earphones and leg warmers). We convinced him that our strides would be leisurely and he agreed to join us. Cameo and I happily chatted and walked along until just past the South Boston Yacht Club, where WMD turned back, accusing our gait of being "too girly", as if we had tricked him into power-walking. Please know that nobody was wearing spandex.
I can completely picture that unfolding. He probably was ready to bail at the L Street bathhouse but hung in there for a few more yards.
This is why I never jump rope in the driveway, even though I want to.
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