Freaky orange guy.

It was another lovely, cool day here yesterday, so Middle and I went to a nearby park early in the afternoon to walk around its lake. It’s a place The Husband and I used to take the kids when they were small, so it holds great memories. 

But as we were walking from the parking lot to the lake, something made me blurt out “I wonder if we’ll run across any freaks here today?”

Middle thought I was being ridiculous. The park was nearly empty; only a couple of moms and grandmas with preschoolers in tow, getting in a good romp before nap time. 

But I remembered the days when I did the same thing with my little ones, and I was wary.

Sure enough, as we neard the end of our first lap around the lake, I spotted a “character” coming toward the path from the parking lot. “There’s our freak,” I said. “You come to a park in the middle of a week day, and there’s one every time.”

 

This is a fairly accurate representation of the freaky guy.

 
His skin was WAY more orange than Trump’s. We could tell because there was so much of it showing. Because he was wearing large orange running shorts to compliment that orange skin – and nothing else. Well, except shoes. With a shock of bright white hair at the top, this guy resembled a piece of carrot cake with cream cheese frosting. A buff piece of carrot cake, but carrot cake nonetheless.

And then it got better. See, one end of the lake is on a rise beside the road, so when you get to that part of the path you’re on display for all to see. Freaky orange guy waited until he got to that section to start doing a series of deep lunges. Very impressive.

We passed him on the path a couple of times, before we decided that was just too weird and did an about-face to avoid walking past him again. 

And then, as we completed our last lap, we spotted him again. Freaky orange guy had made his way to a decorative raised mound on an inlet of the lake. Surrounded by large limestone boulders, he was going through a fascinating routine. Push-ups. Squats. Stretches. We tried not to look (because obviously he wanted everyone in the park to look, and that would just be too rewarding) but kept peeking and cracking up at his preening and posturing in all his orange glory.

It was quite a show. And the best part? I was able to say as we headed back to the parking lot, “Didn’t I tell you there would be a freak?” 

Mama still knows best. 

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