Sarah was actually born in Philadelphia but lived in Western ... not Upstate ... nor the City ... BUT ... New York for longer than she's lived anywhere.
Now she's an Island Girl.
She's got a great tan ... looks healthy and wholesome ... her long hair drapes her shoulders ... she's pierced ... tattooed in multiple places ... WAY MORE Pirate than I'll ever be ... and has a Beach Bum heart.
It's nice on Tybee Island this time of year ... for cold hearted people ... and our windows are open ... Gypsy, the formerly gender confused cat, loves to sit in the window sill looking out ... Winston The Little Gay Dog sits on the sofa staring out the window ... and Goddess snores in the floor ignoring everything.
When you live on an Island though ... you are surrounded by crazy people.
Everyone who lives on an island ... is either running to ... or from ... something.
So last night ... through the open windows ... Sarah and I are talking when we hear ... "He calls himself a Preacher but he's not much of one."
Well, I don't call myself a Preacher but ... we both knew she was talking about me.
"I'll be right back," I tell my lovely wife ... who's in mid-sentence and could make yellow snow out of me at that moment.
"Come on Goddess," I say meandering down the stairs and our dog jumps up running like a Flintstone to go outside with me.
Our neighbor ... the one who gardens in her underwear ... is mad at me ... because Winston TLGD barks at her from his spot on the sofa when she gardens in her underwear.
"You talking about me?" I say in my best New York accent.
Before she can respond ... my wife stands in the middle of the road ... looking like Clint Eastwood ... and butchers our neighbor in front of our other neighbors ... embarrassing Tommy Solomon and his crew.
Goddess yawns.
This is where the story gets interesting.
Sarah and I are having dinner when we hear someone downstairs.
She strolls down the stairs, retrieves a bag full of bathing suit tops and a note from our neighbor proclaiming, "I do not garden in my underwear."
Well ... what do you do?
Sarah took the bathing suit tops to Johnny O and Judy O's house in case we need witnesses in Court ... because I'm not Minister enough!
When my lovely wife returned she wrote a note, stuffed it back in the plastic bag full of bathing suit tops and told me to walk across the street and hang it on her mailbox.
Of course I did ... I love my wife.
Anyway the bag's still hanging there now.
Haven't seen the neighbor.
Sarah's at work.
Goddess is yawning.
It's just another day living on an island.
You can't make stuff up.
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