An open letter to the guy that just walked by house…
Dear guy that just walked by my house,
Listen, I don’t know you and you don’t know me.
Well, I might know you. You look vaguely familar. Definitely French-looking.
And perhaps you know me. Or not. I think you’d like me, but that is hardly the point.
Here’s the thing…
The clothes you are wearing, you may want to rethink them.
If you saw how I dress, you’d know that I am not one to judge anyone on their own personal sartorial splendour. But, dude, it’s all kinds of cold out there. It’s ten below.
You are wearing some kind of short letterman’s jacket, no gloves and a baseball cap.
I’m going to assume that you can afford warmer clothes and that you are dressing like this because you feel good in this outfit — or you are a big fan of Richie Cunningham.
Perhaps a woman is involved?
Many of the bad ideas we have as men are influenced by women.
One can only assume that is how the first beret was invented.
In any event, I’m worried about you freezing, man. I’m sure you are a nice guy and —
Well, I’m not SURE. I mean, you could be one of those guys that rents DVDs and returns them all scraped and scratched.
If you are, I gotta ask you how in the world does that happen anyway? Are you removing dust from them by using diamond-encrusted brillo pads?
I’ve done some bad things in my life. I’ve keyed literally thousands of cars. I’ve kicked oh so many puppies. I even once punched a Pope in the kidneys.
Maybe helping you today will make up for all of that.
Because, let’s face it, guy that just walked by my house…
I love you.
Okay, I don’t really love you.
I just wish that you’d wear some friggin’ mittens.