driving gloves

First, I've made contact with Matt-O. A bear did not eat him. An elk did not gore him with a giant antler. An eagle, however, thought about swooping him off somewhere to poke his eyes out. But rest assured, he is safe and sound, still handing out JR. Ranger certificates and taking slow hikers around to look at wildflowers.

Next up on the docket, driving gloves! I may have mentioned before that my apartment complex is much like the Golden Girls tv show. Except it's not Miami. And the place isn't as nice, nor as entertaining. So I guess that just leaves me with old people. I think I discovered an appropriate Stan last night. There is a little sporty car (I swear it's nothing more than a Honda Prelude) that parks a little bit down from where I park. Though the car is parked under the protection of covered parking, it always wears a cloth car cover. I only recently found out what color it was (a weird light purple-blue). Anyway, last night I was heading out after work to help some friends when said car and owner stopped to ask me a question...

"Excuse me, was it you who left...."

I could hardly concentrate on making it to the end of the question because all I could see were driving gloves and Poncherello sun-glasses. Driving. Gloves. Driving gloves and Poncherello sun-glasses. Quite serious driving gloves. Stan driving gloves.

Snapping out of my driving glove fog, I politely answered in the negative to his question, smiled, then got into my car (easy to do as it's not protected with a cloth car cover) and left. One thing is clear from this moment last night: I need to find an appropriate Sophia in the complex so we can say snarky things about Stan and tell stories that begin with, "Picture it! Scicily, 1942."