Sunday afternoon, fifteen years or so ago….
A knock on my door. (That was rare; the building was secured, and the right way to get in the apartment was to buzz me.) I opened the door, found a pretty Scandihoovian teen, maybe 17, maybe 15; five foot three or so, medium-length and very thin blond hair bleached to white by the sun.
“Hi! I’m Lynn, the rent-a-kid you ordered from Sears.”
What she wore: Not a whole lot. Tight white shorts, and a white shirt with yellow flowers. The shirt was sleeveless, and secured by a couple buttons. She was wearing a halter underneath which hid what it had to and little else.
I was speechless, so she repeated her line:
“Hi! I’m Lynn, the rent-a-kid you ordered from Sears.”
Still speechless. This is not a line she should be feeding a lonely forty-year-old….
“Oh, you didn’t order a rent-a-kid?” A change of voice. “Actually, I’m selling magazines to raise money for my school.”
Sent her on her way.