He's Baaaack

On Sunday after church when Johnson grabbed my arm and said, “Hold on a minute young man,” then finished a conversation he’d begun earlier with some other unsuspecting bystander; I thought he was going to yell at me for last week’s blog post about his penchant for women’s perfume. Ordinarily I’m not afraid of adult males over the age of 70 but frankly, Johnson scares me. Maybe it’s the way his eyes look oversized and fish-like behind his 1/4” thick glasses or the way he quivers just before he shouts at me. Or maybe the way he clinches my arm just below the elbow every time he speaks to me. Either way, I’ve been avoiding him.

“I have something I want to talk t o you about,” he said and then he let me sweat for a second.

“OK.”

“I bought two new chairs and I have the old ones in the garage. They’re armchairs and they’re nice.” The implication was clear, ‘Yes, they’re old to me and I’ve replaced them with a much nicer set, but as far as you’re concerned, they’re better than anything you’ll find elsewhere. And don’t question me on that.’ He continued, “Why don’t you come by the house and take a look at them? They’d be perfect for a couple of your girls.”

Until a couple of weeks ago, I wasn’t sure Johnson even knew who I was. I now wondered if he knew who my daughters were. Each is quite small for her age and people often comment with things like, “Wow that little girl is 11?” or “Your children are all so tiny.” I’m not sure what they expect, neither Linda nor I are big, yet still, they go on and on as though two parents standing on the smaller side of the human growth chart should have given birth to a pack of giants.

Size aside and regardless of the chairs real condition, what do four little girls need with a couple of used armchairs?