Sunday, July 03, 2011

A Message from God

Sometimes a bush spontaneously burns or a Red Sea parts. It might rain frogs. Locusts might infest. Other times a front door opens and a naked man in a towel steps out on the porch to get the mail.

Minding our own business, we were, and just randomly watching traffic fly by on a hot summers day. A mailman wandered into cinematic view framed by our coffeeshop window, stuffing a hand full of letters into the wall-mount box next to the front door of the house across from where we sat, sipping iced mochas and chatting about life in general. It's about 150 degrees out if it's 90. Hot. Awful dang hot. The screen door to the house is propped open with a couple of big bricks. Must be hot in there.

When, what to our wondering eyes should appear but a naked man wrapped in a towel, a bit to small to cover his rear. The small-bit, of course ~ an assumption ~ as he is taking great care not to turn his back to the viewing audience (of whom I am pretty sure he was oblivious) but judging by the way he's holding it and tugging on the edges ~ yeah, mental note he says to himself: next trip to Target buy a bigger towel. And yet, there he be. It's a blistering summers afternoon, his mail has just been delivered into a box which is situated on the wall of the house in such a way as to be blocked by the screen door. To access the box he must close the screen door. To close the screen door, he must move the bricks propping it open. To move the bricks he must bend over and......ohhhhh wait, wait.....nope. Not bending over. Not in a towel. Instead, as we continue to sip icy mocha's and take bets on how long that towel is going to last, he begins to finesse his way around the porch with a shuffle befitting Fred Astaire. Or one of those Mexican dancers who can tie a bow in a long scarf with their feet while in the middle of a hot flamenco. Barefoot though he may be, he is determined to displace the bricks, there by freeing the door, with his feet and thus, never having to bend over.

It's a tricky dance. The bricks are heavy. The porch is small. So, by the way in case you've already forgotten ~ so is the towel. Push, shuffle, nudge, nudge and nudge some more. After about five minutes of a complicated front-porch waltz our naked and toweled dancer squeezes past the screen door he's convinced to half-way close and reaches for the mail in the box. We gasp! This leaves only one hand on the towel. We hold our breath. We cover our eyes. (Sort of) We grimace and whine and JUST when we think it's all over for the towel....he's in!!! Inside the house. He's made it!!!! We exhale and cheer. All he needs to do now is reach out and pull the door closed.

Who is to blame? The bearer of surprising tidings who may have sent the letter that so caught him off guard that he let go of the towel? Can they really be blamed? I mean, how many people go out on the front porch to retrive the mail naked?

One, that I know of anyway. And for whatever reason, he forgot about the towel and all of a sudden, JUST as we were breathing our great sighs of relief, it's DOWN.... it drops to the floor...........he's NAKED.....naked as a neighbor on a hot summer's porch.....and we're shrieking.

OHMYGOD OHMYGOD OHHHHHMYYYYGOD!!!!!!!!! Everyone in the shop runs to the window. "What!!?? What????!!!!!"

All we can do is point.
And then, as if to provide a memorable finale to eclipse his porch performance, naked guy turns his back to the crowd and bends over to pick up the towel from the floor, presenting the entire viewing audience with a magnificent, if albeit lily white and just a wee bit droopy ~ presentation of the full-moon.

I've snorted icy mocha through my nose before. But not often. Talk about brain freeze. Ouch! I understand clearly, this is a sign from God I'm supposed to switch to bottled water. It's safer, less calories and much easier on the eyes.


Jan said...

I just snorted wine through my nose.... that was funny! Thank you for the much needed laugh!!!

Debbie said...

Serendipitous moment of the "oh dear!!!!" kind :)) Shame, shame, shame on my insatiable Starbucks habit.

Turtles In North Dakota said...

Oh good grief! Iced mocha up the nose brain up the nose brain burn! hahahahahahaha