Monday, December 21, 2009

Don't Give Dirty Looks

My brother took me for a morning drive in his BMW around the lake road in Coeur d'Alene. He has a funny commentary dripping like this wet rain from his mouth almost all the time. The grey air is like one of those IKEA lanterns, where the light is hiding behind a wax paper, illuminating everything without seeming to have one source or another.

There are little piles of snow on the sidewalks from last week, little snow poops.

As we pulled into the alley behind my mom and brother's house, a woman and her two daughters were standing in front of his closed garage door. They didn't recognize him, so as he turned into where they were standing, rolled his window down and said, "How's it going," the woman apparently thought he was a stranger stopping to talk to her and her girls. She got a very defensive look that was probably meant to show him that she was not interested in chatting, and partly to show him that she was irritated with him pulling over to talk to her.

It would have been right around that time that she might have noticed the garage door behind his car slowly lifting up. He put the car in reverse and began to back into his parking spot in the garage. If I were her, I would have felt pretty dumb.

Oh, you live here.
Oh, you weren't stopping to talk to me, you were preparing to back into your driveway, and I was standing with my raincoated girls in front of your garage, looking for our cat that's missing because even our cat has picked up on our attitude and wanted to find a better home this Christmas.

Apparently a woman down the street lost her cat and came to knock on the door, wondering if my brother's Rottweiller might have ate him. My brother says that cougars are on the loose in the neighborhood and laughs. I'm not sure if he's being serious or not.

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