He replied saying he was busy traveling for a few weeks. Then no other communication for two weeks, until I get the email below (in green). Apparently, he’d not been traveling as he said in his previous email. When reading his next email, with his thinly-veiled indecent proposal, keep in mind we have had one phone conversation and we have not met.
Dear Blond Lemming,
Good morning. I hope that you had a fabulous holiday weekend.
Are you making the move to (town to get away from the ex Speck) this week?
I’ve been catching up with friends and trying to get my back yard ready for a 3 week trip. I’m planning to leave this weekend, hopefully Saturday, to go to a conference in OH and then spend 2 weeks in MI. Then I’ll drive up through the Upper Peninsula and back down through WI. Should be a lovely time for a trip. I’m busy lining up appointments and visits now.
Sorry we haven’t met yet. We’ll have time to talk in the car if you want to ride along;-) I’m taking my friend’s kayak and am especially looking forward to the shores and inlets of Lake Superior. I’ll be passing through a lot of areas where wealthy Chicagoans have their summer homes. They might be good regions for your sales? Ready for an adventure?
Or a cup of coffee, of course;-)
With wanderlust, Greenie
WTF? I’m thinking the “wander” portion of his signature was a typo on his part. And he wasn’t paying a bit of attention during our call if he thinks I sell door-to-door products, or anything, to homeowners.
This is another episode of Tales From the RV Park, life in the RV parks I’ve been camped at. Disclaimer: These stories are fictitious, happened in nightmares, are hearsay, and/or are what others recounted to me. I am part Irish, so there is likely a good deal of exaggeration. The names have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent. There is no relation to persons living, dead, or in jail, even if you think so. In other words, don’t bother trying to sue me, and I have no money.
It’s a shame you can’t buy common sense like you can buy deodorant.
Southern Fried Hatin’ and Trailer Park Tush
There was a long-time tenant, a guy from the deep south. I never saw him without a drink in his hand. He was a nice guy, if you could overlook the blatant racism and sexism, which was hard to do. He never once held back a negative comment about a woman, or a non-white male – even if one was standing right in front of him. If you weren’t white and male, he would likely insult you within five minutes of talking to him. It’s a wonder he never got into a fist fight in all the time he lived at the park.
We’ll call him Southern Fried Hatin’.
Hatin’ had a girlfriend/wanna-be-wife. For the majority of Hatin’s stay at the RV park, his girlfriend But, wait! There’s more…
(I just thought of the interesting search results the title might produce. Eeeew. By the way – do NOT Google images for that phrase.)
A big lump on my butt cheek.
A bump on my rump.
A pain in the ass. P.I.T.A. for short.
You might be thinking: ‘Is she having kinky sex again? Did things get a bit wild?’
And it’s not painful, anymore.
I was once an unruly teenager who did things like sneak out of the house in the middle of the night. On one such occasion, while sneaking out on a dark, rainy night – in flip-flops because I’m super smart like that – I slipped on the wet CONCRETE stairs. My right foot went out from under me and the sharp edge of the CONCRETE step met the soft top of my butt cheek. The pain was excruciating. I crawled to the garage to get out of the rain, because I couldn’t walk.