“Just let me take off my shirt…”

I had a Larry Incident yesterday afternoon and the images are still seared on my retinas so I thought I’d share. I wrote a little about Larry on this post and have since found out much more, both from him and from others in the trailerhood.

Larry is an alcoholic, which explains his sometimes lucid, sometimes bizarre behavior. He says:

• he’s off the sauce now
• he doesn’t sleep for three or four days in a row and then sleeps for 12 hours or more
• he is looking at houses in the neighborhood to buy (complete with details about how he would arrange his antique furniture, how much they want for it, how far he’ll talk them down on price, etc., etc., ad infinitum
• he has lots of money
• Lois* is a wonderful woman, but…
• his wife could practically walk on water (she died 3,4,8 years ago – it changes from story to story)
• he has a storage unit full of Great Stuff that he wants to show me so that I can buy some of it (he tells this to every new resident, but said storage unit visit can never be scheduled)

The other residents in the park say only one thing: don’t believe a word out of Larry’s mouth. I’m inclined to believe the majority.

Anyway. I was sitting on the patio yesterday afternoon, minding my own business, not bothering anybody when Larry spied me and ambled over. Sigh. Too late to dart inside. I was stuck and just hoping he would leave after only a very short “visit.”

It was warm and sunny, so I had my shoes and socks off and he spied the tattoo on my right ankle.

“A tattoo?” he said, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah…evidence of my mis-spent youth,” I replied.

“You should see mine!” he exclaimed. “Here, hold Leo’s leash while I take off my shirt.”

Oh, crap! Really?

He unbuttoned his flannel shirt, slipped it off to reveal a yellowing t-shirt with a frayed neckline and pushed one sleeve up to reveal a USMC logo, “Vietnam” and a bare-breasted woman from the waist up.

“Look at that! We were all a little crazy in the service!”

He then pushed up the other sleeve to reveal yet another bare-breasted woman, this one with even more detail and color. He was grinning like I should be impressed seeing his flabby old arms tatted up with titties.

“Well…Um…Those are certainly large tattoos…” was all I could say.

He nattered on for a bit as he put his shirt back on, but I was so traumatized that all I heard was a roaring in my ears. When I mastered my gag reflex I murmered some vague “gotta get going…” sounds and he and Leo left.

Wow. Just wow. On what planet is it appropriate to show a woman you don’t really know (a virtual stranger) tattoos of naked women on your person? Does anyone else think that’s strange? Was he expecting me to get a thrill from seeing half a naked woman on his flabby, cottage-cheese, old-dude arms?

AND. Dude. Buy some clean undershirts, fercryinoutloud! What is it with Old Dudes and their nasty, yellowing undershirts?

The whole incident just felt dirty. Very uncomfortable. What would you have done?

* Lois is my closest neighbor. She raises long-haired Chihuahuas, which are (according to her) pedigreed animals that sell for $400+ to people all over the country. After asking many questions and doing some math, I have concluded that she has 11 (eleven) dogs in her single-wide trailer. AND three cats. NONE (just let me repeat that – NONE) of these animals ever comes outside. Ever. She does not walk them outside at all. Just let that sink in for a minute. Once in awhile one of them will escape and I know they are there because if she happens to leave for any reason they bark. Every minute she’s gone. Without pause. Or maybe they take turns. Hard to tell. It’s a constant din.