A few days ago Toney was downstairs working, and heard the front door open. She assumed it was one of the boys coming in, but didn’t hear them immediately sprint up the stairs, or go into the kitchen and start opening and closing things and banging shit around like the Russians are in Hazelton. Odd, she thought. So, she went to investigate.
And as she was starting up the steps… an old lady came around the corner. “Is this the Fazio residence?” she asked, looking around bewildered and confused. Um, no.
“Am I on Lilac Lane?” she wanted to know. Again: no. “Oh, I’m sorry, I have the wrong house,” she said, and left. As she exited, the younger boy came home, and they passed each other on the sidewalk.
“I walked into the wrong house,” she told him.
“OK,” he answered, and went straight into the kitchen and started banging shit around.
Toney said she watched the woman, who she estimated to be well into her 80s, get into a white car that was parked on our driveway, and speed away.
Weird, huh? And another thing about it? Andy didn’t even bother to rise to his feet. Toney said he just laid there on his side, glanced at the old lady, and apparently deemed the situation not worthy of his involvement.
And I guess she just walks into the Fazio’s place, whoever they are? Is that the way it works over there? Yes, there are several unanswered questions. Oh well.
Have you ever had anything like this happen? Our older son has a couple of friends that have been coming around since second grade or whatever, who just stroll on in. It annoys me, mildly. But I don’t say anything. When they see me they always tense up, and go into full Eddie Haskell mode: “Oh, good evening, Mr. Kay,” they sputter. Bullshitters, all of ’em.
But what about strangers just strollin’ in? If you have anything to share, please do so in the comments.
Before Toney and I were married, and living in deep, deep sin in Atlanta, she came and woke me one Saturday morning. “Get up,” she said. “There’s somebody sleeping or maybe dead on the back porch.” What in the finger-snapping hell?? I transitioned from sleep to wide-awake so fast my central nervous system almost blinked out.
She told me she was going to take the trash out, and saw him lying out there, near our back door. I grabbed a baseball bat, and went to investigate. My heart was hammering. This was Atlanta, after all, and almost anything was possible in that insane asylum.
I opened the back door, and there he was: on his side, wearing nothing but a pair of tighty-whities. He was a white dude, probably in his mid-20s, and I nudged him awake with my foot. He jerked and said, “Huh?”
He looked around, utterly confused, and when he realized he was in his underwear, he mumbled, “What the fuck?…” I told him he needed to move along, and he apologized and got to his feet. About halfway down the stairs he found a pair of pants, and put them on. At the bottom of the stairs was a shirt, and he put that on too. Then he found some socks… By the time he got to the alley he was fully dressed.
Heh. Rough night, apparently. Probably thought he was on Lilac Lane.
I need to go to work now, but if you guys have any Stranger In The House stories to tell, please do so in the comments.
And I’ll see you again real soon.
Have a great day!