the freaky guy

So I’m parking yesterday, with my mother in the car, haven’t seen her in a month – she’s been kicking it with her sisters in New Zealand. Apparently farting up a storm and giggling all day and all night.
Like how it usually is when the three of them are together. Bless.

Although they do tend to rip the roof off the building, in more ways than one.

They get on so well, all three of them are truly the best of friends. This is when I achingly miss having sisters of my own. Only children - like myself can you tell – really miss having siblings sometimes. That’s why friends are like family.

Anyhey. So I’m reversing out of this toight spot – mirrors all but pressed against the cars besides me.

I squeeze into my car door – you know when the door can’t open wide enough so you shimmy your body like Britney Spears pelvic thrusting in slow motion, scaling the doorframe from the inside, legs a-splay and you all but cut your leg off when you close the door.

In the car beside me, watching this spectacle, is this dude. Right there, in the front seat. OK dude is a loaded term because he was kiddie-fiddler creepy.

He looked simple, if not borderline retarded, but he was just staring at me, while I had to do a 20 point turn out the parking space. Just staring, right into my face, mouth agape, and drooling.

By that I mean, he was physically salivating, even though it looked like this was an affliction he’d had his whole life.

He had a car freshener in the shape of a red plastic mini sandal, and it was pine scented. This is how close his car – and unwavering gaze – was.

I kept on turning to my mother and saying, “Mum, can I say something to the freak whose face is pressed up against my window?”

Eventually I was like – after 14 three pointers – “Dude. What the hell, you’re staring into my private space.”

Not that that did anything, his eye twitched slightly and he just carried on. But it wasn’t that he looked a bit basic – he had this glint in those eyes that scared the hell out of me. He looked a bit sinister. Not all demonic, but his staring made me helluva uncomfortable.

Josef Fritzl called. He wants his look back.

Eew. I feel dirty thinking about it.

Did get my blood tests back – and my hormones are top notch, the Doctor says. Ace hormones, the right amount and in the right places. So the boob thing is indeed a mystery. For now. We’ll see it if stops. Still tender, and still don’t fit into my hands. Rather nice, in fact, if it weren’t for the tenderness.

But whatever, enough about breasts. Just having that weirdo and the word ‘breasts’ in the same blog post is makes me feel a bit Puke-ahontas in the lower abdominal region.