On Monday evening, shortly after arriving back from the coast with a car full of dirty clothes, I turned tail with our youngest daughter and walked into town to buy some food. We had been sitting in the car for five hours. I hadn’t shaved for two days, and was on my last set of clean clothes. Somewhere along the line I had torn the arse out of the jeans I was wearing too.
Why is it you always bump into people you know when you look your worst ?
There used to be this pretty blonde lady that lived opposite the office at work – a few years ago I invented an entire back-story for her after seeing her next-door neighbor make not-so-subtle attempts to impress her throughout a disastrous summer (for him). I’ll never forget the time he bought a three wheeled motorbike and parked it outside her house. I would pass her almost every morning and evening while cycling to and from work – she walked her dog along the same route. I never knew her to say more than “hello” to, but you kind of get to know somebody when you see them every day – or at least you like to think so.
Guess who we walked straight into while making our emergency trip to the supermarket for food? You guessed it – the pretty blonde lady. I presumed she must have moved away – obviously she didn’t move that far after all.
I have no idea if she saw me as I wandered past holding Miss 12’s hand. I only glimpsed her at the last moment after nearly walking into her. I did a double take, but she appeared to be distracted by whatever her dog was doing.
Of course now my brain is busy putting together an elaborate story of how she was forced out of the cottage by the lecherous advances of the creepy tricycle motorbike guy. Or maybe she was living here while under witness protection? Who knows.
I threw the arse-less jeans away yesterday evening, if you were wondering.