Postcard from the Edge

I have to assume God wants me to blog. Why else would stuff like this happen to me?

There's this creepy guy who comes to the races with a running friend of mine. He has always skeeved me out and it's not just because he's older and wears little Richard Simmons' shorts that are two sizes too small. It's also his demeanor and his enthusiasm for another friend's young daughters a few years back. He creeped her out too. He also creeps out another friend of ours. And I'm guessing if we took a poll, he creeps out most women and a fair number of men. Just not the guy who brings him around to the races.

I've kind of made my peace with his existence and just avoid him as much as possible. So it took me a few minutes to think of him when I received the following postcard earlier today. My first name was spelled incorrectly and for the life of me, I couldn't think of any "running pals" named David. I'm glad I saw the back of the postcard first, so that the true horror of the card would be revealed as I realized who sent it and then.........turned it over.

Here's the back:



And here, my friends (with an added Sesame Street band-aid for your protection) is the charming front:



WTF??!!

Why does he even have my mailing address?? I had hoped the whole running gang had gotten postcards, but it sounds like I may just be one of the lucky ones. I can only imagine what my 60-something mail man thought, but then again he once awkwardly asked me out for a drink, so this may help explain my not taking him up on the offer.

But seriously, WTF??!!

I have to see this freak on Saturday and I'm hoping he was drunk when he wrote and mailed the thing and won't remember. 'Cause how on earth do I address this if he wasn't? "Hey, Captain Inappropriate, thanks for sexually harrassing me through my own mailbox. Bravo."

WTF.