I found my neighbor from the grief group on a Facebook group that I belong to. It only took me 5 seconds and the typing in of her first name in a search bar on the site. Apparently, we had already communicated on Messenger during the fire evacuations in 2017. She was responsible for getting me the phone number of the person who fed our dogs during the time we were evacuated.
Small world. So, I sent her a friend request and said, "Hey, let's keep in touch" in as casual and non-weird stalkery kind of a way as I could manage. She accepted my friend request, so it's on her if I turn out to be too godless of a heathen to keep company with.
I could both relate and not relate to her agony of faith in dealing with the loss of her husband. He was a minister, and together they ran a Christian home school. She's super straight-lace, nicer than pie, with her two little apple cheeked kids. The daughter is a spitting image of her mom, down to the little secretary spectacles and blond pigtails. They even raise baby goats. Too effin' cute.
Don't y'all start thinkin' that I'm thinkin' anything or anything. No siree. I'm just an innocent conversationalist. A guy from group who knows his status in the world and plans to keep to it. But geez, a guy can say hi to a nice lady without it being weird, can't he? Or is there some kind of line being crossed?
Do I notice attractive blonde females? I guess so. And my unconscious mind makes mental notes about all kinds of things that my conscious mind says I should feel guilty about. Well, fuck that. I can enjoy the scenery without being a thought-criminal.
And what of it? Who's gonna rain down hell-fire on me if I let images of nice things dance in my head? The God who wants to take credit for all the beauty in the world? The One who makes a perfect human form and then says, "Don't look upon it, for it is sinful lust. Shame, shame, shame!"
It's probably best if she never finds this blog. I'm a bit too frank, and I wear my guts and intestines on the outside. But only in the house. When I go out, I dress for the occasion.
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I've changed my comments settings to allow for anyone to comment. All comments are welcome, even spineless potshots from anonymous posters. Please, by all means, give me the tongue lashing I so richly deserve. I promise not to hunt you down and melt your keyboard with my plasma cannon. I won't, however, promise not to pout and make that face you can't stand.