I’ll never learn. . .
If getting caught by the dog walker pants-less wasn’t shameful enough. . .
The other day, when I got home from yet another birding adventure in the Park, I was a little overheated.
So I took off my jacket, shoes and pants.
Makes perfect sense, No?
It’s not like the kid cares if I’m running around the kitchen in a ratty old T-shirt, granny knickers and flip-flops.
Well, at least it didn’t seem like he cared until THIS happened. . .
I’m standing in the kitchen facing the counter, in the aforementioned attire, looking at something on Twitter when I feel a warm little hand hit my right upper thigh several inches from my um rump.
I look down to see if he needs assistance with anything.
Much to my dismay, he does not.
He runs his pudgy little palm down the length of my pasty thigh to my knee and laughs.
I smile nervously.
What. The. Hell. Is. Going. On.?!
I turn my attention back to my phone figuring I shouldn’t make a to-do about it.
And I feel it AGAIN.
This time, I side-step.
And he moves closer, again placing his hand on my upper leg and sliding his palm down to the knee.
What’s wrong with this kid?! Am I giving him some kind of Oedipus complex?!
His eyes gaze up and meet mine. . .His fleshy little palm resting and inch or two above my knee. . .
I recognize that look instantly. . .OhmywordsonnofagunI’llbedamned!!!
I’VE BECOME HIS PERSONAL LEG LAMP!!!!!