That creep was me

It was a slow day at the store for Leslie. I watched as the woman drove up in the nice blue BMW convertible. When she got out I thought I knew her, the wife of a friend, but there was no reaction back and I realized that I had once again been fooled by a similar shaped head and a mask, no big and a common error in these days of Covid. I watched her enter my wife's store, which is next to mine.

A few minutes later I walked into my wife's shop to tell her something and I got a very subtle go away hand signal. No problem. I scrammed.

Later I returned after the woman left, with package in tow. Leslie confided in me that the woman asked her if she saw the creepy guy outside. That creepy guy was me. I suppose Leslie could have said, "Yes I know, the guy, I sleep with him, in fact I am married to him" but she needed the sale. And I am a creep on occasion, let's face it.

So she said something akin to "No, he's not a creep. He's okay, he's a high end art dealer, he sells beautiful silver and high end paintings." She couldn't spill my identity because she needed the sale and didn't want to embarrass the lady. I took a quick personal inventory. Homemade haircut, not professional but not in any means terrible. Woolrich pendleton with Anthony Cullins/Brett Stokes t-shirt below a la Jimi Hendrix. Blue jeans might have been a little stale. Mask could certainly have used a washing. Aging hippie gone to seed. But a creep? Who knows? Maybe I just had that deranged look.

Sorry to scare off the paying customers in any case. You might want to hide the children.