It was cloudy and cold all weekend, just like last weekend. It’s raining right now, this instant, hammering against the windows. I wore a raincoat for our dog walk this morning, but didn’t get it wet. This feels like an exact repeat of what I wrote last Monday.

I had an interesting occurance Friday afternoon. A receptionist from a place I go sometimes lives at some apartments down the road. I went to the her office last week and didn’t see her at work. Then I started thinking that I hadn’t seen her car in a while either, maybe she moved.

The she pulled up in her car and and got out. I said hi, I wasn’t even sure of her name. This Sideshow Bob haired little guy got out of another car and said “That’s my wife”, and why am I “harassing her all the time”.

I almoust laughed, but didn’t. I said I wasn’t harassing her, didn’t even know her name, it was exactly the third time I’d ever talked to her, and I know her from her workplace. Later, I wish I had started off with “Sorry I made you so uncomfortable”, but I can never think of anything good to say till after-the-fact.

This guy asks if it was my wife who drives the little car and I said yes. He said he sees her around but doesn’t say anything to her.

The whole time, the receptionist is standing 20 feet behind him, clearly embarassed, shaking her head no apologtically.

So the conversation with the Sideshow Bob haired dude ended, I continued walking the dogs up and down the street smoking a cigar, I could hear them fighting inside on my next pass.

So I was related the story to my wife and she knew the guy instantly. He had approached her in town, said he knew her, said they were neighbors. Then he told my wife how beautiful she was and was hitting on her pretty hard.

Then it started to make sense. This guy, like a thief who, because he’s a thief, thinks everybody is trying to steal from him. He thinks that, because he’s trying to pick up other women besides his wife, everyone is trying to pick up on his wife too.

My first wife was like that. If some girl said hi to me in the store, I was automatically having an affair with her had to somehow prove I wasn’t. I spent my time hoping we didn’t see anyone I knew, lest they say something or exhibit some behavior I would be unable to explain.

It’s psyhological abuse. And I feel sorry for my receptionist neighbor. I’m probably old enough to be her grandfather, literally. I didn’t know her name, or that she was married, nothing about her except what she drove and she lived in those apartments.

She’s living with a crazy child of a husband, I hope she’s not a prisoner.