Adjusting to the suburbs, slowly but surely.

I was walking Charlie the other day when I heard a knocking—a tapping, as if someone gently rapping. Across the street I saw a large man knocking, knocking at me through his storm door. I kept looking, and noticed that he was the same color… all over. A large beige naked man was tapping a hearty hello at me through his door. Oh, excellent, I thought, I've found the neighborhood pervert.

The next week it happened again. I crossed the street so I wouldn't get an eyeful of strange genitalia, and as I walked I heard the rap-rap-a-rip-rap, but I kept my eyes straight ahead, my stride purposeful. Out of the corner of my eye I could see him practically leaping into the door. Probably he was a deranged man-child harnessed to the radiator. I felt a little sorry for him, but I wasn't going to give him the thrill of my gaze, no way.

Today, again, walking Charlie: I forgot about Crazy Naked Person and was walking on the same side of the street as his house. Just as I approached it and heard the familiar bang-bang-come-see-my-scrotum-bang, a car pulled up to the house and a man leapt out. I expected him to say, "Sorry for my third cousin Newt! He has this clothing allergy and he really just means to make friends!"

Instead, though, he smiled at me and said, "My dog really wants to say hello!"

His dog.

I looked more closely, and there was an enormous, yellowish, shorthaired, meaty dog throwing itself against the door. I noticed the slobber all over the door. The giant pink tongue. Huh. Heh. Hrm.

I predict that in ten years, I'll see a man with his pants down in the subway and I'll say, "That chihuahua on your lap sure looks feisty!"

P.S.: there's new stuff today over at AlphaMom.