When I See an Elephant Fly
But this month I’ve seen two more quite amusing things.
Over fourth of July weekend we went to Arizona. Wyatt was quite stressed because, as usual, we were running late. He was worried we’d miss our flight (which we did), and was flying down the freeway. Suddenly he slowed down and started laughing. He slowed to match pace with a truck in the left lane next to us. We all looked over.
It was a truck–a pretty big one, and it looked like the front passenger seat had been removed, making the “front seat” extent into the back of the cab. And riding shotgun in this truck was . . . A HORSE! That’s right, riding down the freeway in the front of this truck there was a horse! It wasn’t a big one, but it wasn’t a pony either (Leslee, my sister who trains horses and who was also with us at the time, confirmed this). It took up the entire front passenger side of the cab, and it didn’t look very comfortable. Leslee got a picture of it, I’ll have to get it and post it. Now when ever Wyatt is stressed, I just remind him of the time we saw a horse riding shotgun down the freeway.
You might remember “ugly naked man” from the sitcom Friends; the man who lived in the apartment across the street, who never wore clothes as he went about his daily activities. Well, in our neighborhood we have our own “ugly naked man,” he’s a 90 year old man who lives with his brother in a house the next street over.
Wyatt and I always laugh as we drive past his house on our way home. The first night we saw him he was out–it was 11:00 at night, and he was standing in the brilliant glow of his lawn lamp, dressed only in his tighty-whiteys. His ninety year old skin sagged and hung limp on his too-thin frame. He stood there in his underwear, holding a garden hose, watering the lawn. We had to drive by twice just to be sure we saw what we thought we saw!
Now when ever it’s dark out, we don’t look towards ugly naked man’s house (we’ve found he’s not privy to privacy). He leaves his blinds open and his lights on as he goes about the house in his night routine, sans clothes.
Every neighborhood has “one of those.”