Hairy palms...the other definition.

So, a little background here...a few weekends back we had a carport sale. Amongst my many valuable treasures, I had 4 new cans of a funky sage-y olive green paint (think "camo", since *I failed to think "camo" when I bought it) and 4 big boxes of peel-and-stick vinyl tile. Both were bought during periods of depression in my life and never used. They also never sold during my carport sale and got shoved back into my utility room until I decided I needed to clean it out a few days ago. Now, I have this certain neighbor, Gary. He's 53 and just an old, burnt out beach bum with a waist length mullet and a serious drinking problem and let's be real, when *I say someone has a drinking problem, it's bad. But he's a sweet and harmless, unemployed drunk, living in a house inherited from his dead girlfriend (cirrhosis of the liver, fittingly enough) and eating off food stamps and my leftovers. He's funny as hell and not a mean bone in his body. His inherited house is...in need of...um...updating, though, so I headed over there to offer up my camo paint and sticky tiles like special prizes. He was excited. Hey, cool, someone wants this crap. So, he comes over and hauls it all back across the street on the seat of his bicycle, trip after trip, assuring me he was going to get a few more drinks in him and "tone that paint down with some white" and paint his living room and kitchen. Oh, boy.

Today, he comes over and I admit, I'm most impressed. Not just anyone can ride a bicycle drunk, drink in hand, and keep it upright. He asks to use my phone and please keep *that little fact in mind as you read the following conversation we have:

Gary: I've almost got my kitchen done with the tile you gave me. ::insert giggle:: That stuff is really sticky.

Me: It sure is...if it seeps up in the seams, a little rubbing alcohol on a paper towel covered butter knife ought to clean it right up.

Gary: I had it all over my hands and I had to pee this morning. I got pubic hair stuck to my hands.

Me: God, Gary, I don't need to know this!

Gary: Yeah, then I got marijuana stuck in it, too. It's just reeeeeeeallly sticky.

Me: Well. Um. That sucks...would you like some Goo-Gone or something for your hands? I have some. You can keep it.

Gary: Oh, great! But can I use your bathroom first? I don't think I can made it home in time.

Me: ::cringes in fear he's going to pee on my floor either way:: Sure, Gary.

:::he comes out::

Gary: It sure does smell good in there. What is it?

Me: Um. It's clean?

Gary: I need to go to Publix to get a refill of wine. I was there earlier and the cashier didn't want to take my money when she saw my hands and all the stuff stuck to them. I probably shouldn't have told her what all it was.

Gee, you think?

It was time for me to end the conversation with this because of all the things in the world I do not want to every hear about again, Gary's pubic hair is on the top of my list. It might even be the first item. I swear, next time I'll just set my shit out to the curb and hope everyone involved stays anonymous.