What's Not Good For The Goose Is Also Not Good For The Goose's Daughter

I might have mentioned that The Pony and I have been stopping by to visit my mom every day after school. We take her leftovers. Pick up her mail and paper. Visit and soak up her high-speed internet. It's not like we're strangers.

As we left on Tuesday, climbing into T-Hoe, being privileged to park in Mom's driveway, even though it's December, and she's really particular about her driveway...I sensed something amiss. Something out of the ordinary. Like when a new road sign goes up, and your subconscious draws your attention to it.

I looked in my rearview mirror. There was a pair of headlights shining at me from across the road. Up the driveway. Under the carport. Uh huh. At the house of that neighbor Mom thinks WATCHES her all the time. And there he was. Watching ME!

Okay. I didn't actually see the guy. But I saw his car. With the headlights on. It was dusk. Headlights are normal. But normally, you turn on the car, and you put it in DRIVE, and you go down your driveway and out onto the road and about your business. You don't sit in the car with it running. It's not like there was ice to melt off the windshield. Or that you're going to sit there with the heater on until your car warms up.

I waited. Because I have to back up out of that driveway, and my backup beeper is broken after getting T-Hoe fixed, and I can't turn my head around like an owl to see where that guy is going the whole time I'm backing out. It's enough to watch for traffic both ways, and not worry about him coming out of his driveway while I'm concentrating on the road on either side.

I waited. Still just the headlights. I waited. Some more. Finally, I told The Pony, "I don't know what this guy is doing, but we've gotta go. It's not getting any lighter. It will be dark by the time we get home."

I backed out. Put T-Hoe in DRIVE, and went on down the road. Right behind me, that neighbor pulled out. He went the other direction. But the point is, HE WAS WATCHING ME UNTIL I LEFT.

I think I owe Mom an apology.