Yes, I've just indulged myself in a little "afternoon delight."
I've been lounging in my OSU chair on the back deck, reading a book, and amusing myself with Hippie Dude.
Oh, don't get me wrong -- I've never spoken to Hippie Dude. I only yield to a little Hippie Dude watching, now and then, which has been going on for close to a decade now. And that's exactly what happened today. Engrossed in my book, a raucous crow interrupted me. When I glanced up, there was Hippie Dude swaggering around his lawn.
Hippie Dude earned his nickname from me as he used to sport long hair and a bandana. He's quite entertaining, and sometimes, like today, it's difficult to miss Hippie Dude when he's outside.
Hippie Dude lives two long fields away from me in an apartment that looks like a house, amidst the regular apartments. He has his own garage, and the apartment people do not. He owns a white pickup truck, bigger than his last white pickup truck, as this one has an extended cab. He also owns two motorcycles which he must revere, as he always washes them in the front yard (for me to watch) as soon as he returns from a ride. He must love them. One is an unusual light yellow color.
Sometimes, it's hard not to miss Hippie Dude when I am outside doing yard work or on the deck. He tends to be a little rough around the edges, and his voice carries easily across the two fields. On one occasion, two Girl Scouts had the audacity to knock on Hippie Dude's door. He opened the door, and although I could not hear exactly what was said, I did hear him growl, "Get out of here!" and the two Girl Scouts left in a huff.
On another entertaining occasion, he evidently got into a domestic dispute with his current "honey" (they all appear to be blondes). They squared off with each other on the front lawn, looking like two boxers sparring, interspersed with the sounds of mumbled trash talk and incoherent yelling. The disagreement evidently climaxed when I heard Hippie Dude snarl loudly, "Go ahead -- hit me, Bitch!" She stomped off, jumped into her car, and was never seen again.
Two men in a van came to my yard sale a few years ago. They introduced themselves and told me they were maintenance men for one set of the apartments, but I should make sure not to confuse them by associating them with the trashy apartments. Through their conversation, I learned Hippie Dude's name is really Jeff, and he's a brick layer. No wonder he's so buff.
I can't say I object to the eye candy. I mean, after all, it's right in front of me. As a matter of fact, Hippie Dude goes beyond the normal eye candy. Not only is he bronzed like a God from hours probably working outside, but he usually sports shorts and either a wife beater or no shirt at all.
Hippie Dude is a man-child in his early 30's probably, and from what the maintenance men said, he's a neat freak. No one is allowed in his apartment unless they take their shoes off. He's a hard worker. I'm not interested in any more than gazing from afar, and amusing myself as I do with all people watching. If the eye candy comes home from work after the maintenance men have mowed his grass, however, and he re-mows on the same day to make diagonals in his lawn, how can I not look?
Besides, women of all ages deserve a little eye candy now and then.
