Monica Bielanko
That's What She Said
Just A Junk Drawer Dream
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Assuming The Worst

He is sweet in the way many old men are. Obviously lonely, pleased to be conversing with anyone about anything. I discover he can't hear me if I'm not looking directly at him when I speak

High noon at the dog park. When I say dog park I mean dog heaven. More of a dog woodland than a dog park. I've been taking Max there since he was a baby. Then Milo and now that the weather is bathing us in warmth little Violet has been a daily visitor. Granted she sleeps through the whole thing while strapped in the Bjorn, but we're out! And about!

So the old guy. He is ambling along a trail behind his equally aged dog. I try to breeze by him with a quick smile but my trusty people repellent A.K.A. iPod doesn't prevent him from stopping to chat up a stranger. Hell, he probably doesn't know iPod earbud from hearing aid anyway.

His scrambled egg colored teeth fighting for space behind his fleshy lips, he talks about how adorable my daughter is, how much he loves dogs, what a nice day it is. I smile all the while, issuing the appropriate replies and then whistle for the dogs and continue on down the trail.

About five steps away I think: What a sweet, old guy. I should be more friendly.

About ten steps away I think: He's probably wanted in three states for molesting children.