I am totally a saint. Just, you know, FYI.
See, I was leaving the house, walking the dogs. As I reached the street, who should drive up but everybody’s least-favorite neighbor, Creepy Chuck.
Ugh. There was nowhere to hide.
Creepy Chuck leaned out the open window of his car and spoke to me over the sound of chainsaws from a neighbor’s house. “So, what’s going on back there?” he asked me with huge, super-concerned eyes.
I tried to keep moving. “They’re having some tree work done.”
This was way too mundane to satiate Creepy Chuck’s thirst for conspiracy, and he would have none of it. “Are you sure? I think they might be having foundation problems.”
I gaped at Creepy Chuck. I looked at the truck directly in his line of sight – the one with a tree logo on the door. And the trailer behind said truck, which also had a tree logo on it, and a bunch of tree-related business on it.
I refrained from telling him he is full of shit. I did not whisper a secret command that turned the labradoodles into deadly attack canines, like those red-eyed lizard / dog beasts from “Ghostbusters.” I didn’t even slam my fist into Creepy Chuck’s car door with a well-deserved, “C’mon, man.”
Instead, I kept moving and said, “Yep. Tree work.”
Eat your heart out, Mother Teresa.