So, Michael thinks I should get a hobby. He's convinced I can't do anything that doesn't involve sirens racing my way. I pointed out that this was a bit unfair – he's attracted his own share of sirens. To prove him wrong, I decided to look into gardening.
I find myself at Virginia's Thumb Nursery, right near my place. With my extensive background in demolition, fertilizer fueled activities seemed like a natural choice. You know, walking around amongst the plants was actually relaxing. We didn't have Blood Lilies or Desert Roses in my country when I was growing up. While I was admiring the orchids, I met Eugene: the owner of the nursery. When I asked him about the shop's namesake, he told me that "Virginia" was his wife who died a few years back. I wondered what type of business Michael would open if I were gone...Fiona's Artillery sounds catchy, doesn't it?
We talked for a while and then he introduced me to his teenage daughter, Lydia. She was sweet – plain, but sweet. Lydia was about to go on a date and Eugene was clearly uneasy since he remarked that he'd never met the boy. Lydia told him she could take care of herself. I liked her attitude but I could tell her feistiness was rooted in her innocence and naiveté, something I've never had. I remember my first date...I think there was a squabble over some licorice and then my date's front tooth in my fist...I was born feisty, what can I say? I left Eugene and Lydia, but not before noting what time she would be at the carnival. I could tell this girl needed an undercover chaperone for the night. Lets face it; gardening's not really my pace. Operating under the radar is more my speed.
It didn't take long to spot Lydia at the carnival. Her hair was down and the glasses were off – a step in the right direction but I could definitely have helped out with the outfit choice. It pained me to watch her teeter unsteadily in those tragic neon green sandals. But I was more concerned with the guy she was holding hands with. Eugene had a right to worry: this guy was significantly older than Lydia. Pedophile old. It made my skin crawl.
As soon as Lydia left to go use the ladies room, her date took the opportunity to go chat up a girl even younger than Lydia. What a creep. He took out his card, leaned into her ear, and slid the card into her back pocket. Unbelievable. Men think they can get away with anything, don't they? Well, unfortunately for him there happened to be several baseballs at the booth I was standing by. I'm not quite sure how to write the noise the ball made when it connected with his head...it was a mixture of a "thump" and a "squish." But it was the second ball that did the trick. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and he was out.
Maybe I was a little harsh but come on, the guy had it coming. The girl he was flirting with screamed when he hit the ground and then bent down in her way too short skirt and started stroking his head. As if I had timed it perfectly, Lydia walked out of the bathroom at that very moment and immediately saw this display of affection. Poor thing ran off in tears. I, of course, made sure she got home safely and was an excellent shoulder to cry on. And I accidentally spilled something on her sandals. We're going shoe shopping tomorrow. All in all, a job well done. And I didn't even blow anything up. So there, Michael.