A man and his family live in a townhouse just 45 seconds away. He is an odd fellow. His hair is perpetually mussed and he jumps out of the door whenever he catches one of us passing by. We've never been introduced.
He thinks Miles is a dead-ringer for John Ritter. He hounds him. "Has anyone ever told you that you look like John Ritter, man? You do you really do! Let me get the missus. She'll tell you so." He'll then try to retrieve his wife. Meanwhile, Miles is left to figure out the balance between being polite and getting the heck out of there.
He never manages to get his wife to come to the door. You'd think he'd get the hint.
He hounds me too. "Does anybody ever call you 'Reese' by mistake? You know, the withered-spoon lady? Everytime I see you I wanna yell out, 'Hey Reese!'" The smile plastered on my face begins to ache as I nod mechanically, politely, trying to inch my way to escape. His wife never comes to see me, either. I sure wish she'd get a lasso on him.
