Flashback

We had a few gorgeous days of weather last week. On one of those evenings, Josh and I were sitting at the little table in our kitchen eating dinner. We noticed the little girl from the house behind us poking around in our backyard. Okay, she was on the edge of our yard and hers, but she was definitely walking the line. We just kind of watched her out of interest; we haven't met these neighbors yet, and this girl of about eight seemed to be enjoying herself. She was pretending to find things on the ground, reaching down and picking up nothing and inspecting her empty hand before motioning to toss "it" aside.

What she did next was especially funny. We have a narrow wooded area on one side of our house, which is most definitely not part of her family's yard. Right now the branches are all bare, so you can pretty much see our side neighbor's house through the sticks. I imagine it'll fill in in a few weeks or months, but at the moment it is fairly transparent. Well, this little girl apparently felt completely camoflauged as she trespassed (ha). It was hilarious! She picked her way through the brush to the middle and parted the branches in front of her as she boldly STARED in our sliding glass door at us eating dinner. She was completely visible to us at our little dinner table, but we don't think she knew that. She tiptoed a bit farther down and leaned over the branches again. Again she stared in our window and again we felt oddly uncomfortable that what she was doing was so obvious... to us. We had a good laugh.

I was reminded of a certain college track coach who once imposed a curfew on our team at an away meet. We were to be in our rooms by 10 p.m. Most of us obliged; a few did not. That turned into a big mess which would make an excellent blog topic for another day... but the reason it is noteworthy here is this: one of our teammates who admittedly broke curfew found him or herself in the hallway at around 2 a.m. This person glanced down the hallway and noted a pair of legs sticking out from underneath the curtains around the end-of-hall window. Add to this account that the curtains were made of lace and the legs were clothed in signature mustard sweatpants, and you have positively identified our good old track coach. Like the little girl parting the sticks in our yard, it was obvious what he was doing to everyone but him.

What a moron.