You are getting sleeeeeepy
You waaaaant to send me money.
You waaaaaant to send me naked pictures of yourself.
Note to those of you who haven't succumbed to my mail-order hypnosis: My little buddy Conor showed up at my door again on Thursday, this time bringing another park resident, his friend Jacob.
He introduced me to Jacob, and I said "I'm sorry, I don't have any kids you can play with!"
Conor answered, very sincerely, "Oh, I didn't come over to play - I just wanted you to meet Jacob."
Thirteen, of course, brought his little puffy social butterfly ass to the door while this was going on, because everyone should be petting him, right? I declined to let the boys pet him, as I don't want Thirteen that close to the door, and I am not inviting the kids inside. That's the last thing their parents need to worry about, some new park resident having their unchaperoned children in her house. Do I really give off that harmless a vibe to kids, or do the parents around here just do a piss-poor job at teaching the whole concept of stranger danger?
That's okay. Once the neighborhood tots see me out on my porch in shorts this summer, they'll be so traumatized they'll never even set foot on my driveway again.