It didn't start out strangely.
The weirdness didn't hit until about 1:00 pm. I was at the grocery store when I came within three feet of...
...the
hairiest man I've ever seen.
He was right in front of me in the check out line. (He looked quite normal from the neck up.)
He was
shirtless, apparently unaware of the many social blunders that his partial nudity was tempting me to commit:
I wanted to giggle. I wanted to stare. I wanted to take a DNA sample.
Seriously...there was
no differentiation between the hair on his back and the hair on his front. It all just
flowed together like a strange pelt of poor quality.
The most astonishing thing of all was that there were little bits of dried grass stuck in his back fur like Bruiser has after rolling around on the lawn. No joke!
Delaney was with me. I'm glad since she can therefore lend credence to my tale. It's best to have a partner in moments of incredulity.
When we got into the car, she made me laugh out loud by asking, "I wonder what his
armpits look like!"
Okay, so swallow the little bit of dinner you just hurled up and read about the rest of my day...
Last week, some friends blessed us with a couch and chair that they were getting rid of. Due to limited space, we needed to get rid of the futon (which someone
else blessed us with years and years ago), so I called the Greensheet and placed an ad in the "Free" section.
Yesterday, we got four phone calls. The second caller drove an hour to get here,
strapped the full sized futon onto the roof of his sedan and drove off. (I wondered all night if he made it home.)
Well, apparently, most people got the Greensheet today because as of 8:44 pm we have received 45 phone calls! No,
not 4
or 5, but
forty-five! Our phone has
never rung like this.
Once told that the futon was gone, one lady asked me, "Do you know anybody who is selling a couch?" I assured her that I did not. (Jeff told me later that I should have said, "Yeah...Ikea.")
Another guy called
to ask what a futon was. He took the time to tell me, "I looked it up in the dictionary and I couldn't find it." Boy, I bet he's a
fun date.
By dinnertime, I had grown weary of interacting with all of these strangers on a human level, so if I didn't recognize the number on my caller ID, I'd try my best to sound like an automated message when answering and say things like, "Hello, if you are calling in regards to the free futon, we are sorry, but it is no longer available. Thank you. Goodbye."
It is now 9:00 and the phone hasn't rung for about 20 minutes. Perhaps the onslaught is at an end.