I should get someone to take a picture of what I'm talking about here, but dear reader, you have a good enough imagination to imagine what I mean.
Standing 6'5" and weighing just a tad over what I weighed on my first driver's license, I tend to be a somewhat off-putting sight as I strut along.
Part of my campaign for better health is a nightly walk, but I prefer to wait until after dark on these nights when it's so doggone hot and muggsy.
Peggy always worries that I will be beset by highwaymen or robbers, ne'er-do-wells, rakehells or, possibly, whoresons, who prowl the dark edges of the suburban night. In actuality, we have to bus in our thugs from distant neighborhoods just to keep the local gendarmerie in practice.
But now you have the picture and a possible link to understanding why I have never ever been troubled by bullies or been the object of hectoring by strong-armers. Add to my lumbering gait my baseball cap with the two little LED lights attached to the brim to illuminate my path, the reflective armbands to alert the drivers who are in such a hurry to get to the radar trap at Joppa Rd near Spring Av that they need to clear the sidewalk for a pedestrian, and the cheapie fake iPod that I use to listen to Tom Jones singing "Do What You Gotta Do (My Wild Sweet Love)," and you can understand why people give me a wide berth as I parade along merrily.
I'm not ever sure that people know what to make of me. Perhaps I'll lose 120 pounds and go become a jockey.