One of the things I look forward to on my ride down Old Chapel Hill Road home from Carrboro is a kindly-looking old man walking his German shepherd. He's about five foot five, nearly spherical, and has one of those bald haircuts where the hair shoots out from the head, creating a corona of messiness. He also wears Zubaz.
Everytime I drive by, the dog is taking a shit, right on the side of the road, and Uncle Rodney (that's what I'm going to call the dude) is beaming as though Sulla's (that's what I'm going to call the dog) shit-taking is equivalent to Victory in Europe or the birth of his first grandchild (can we call her Frangelica? Good.). He beams a spaced-out grin at every car that passes, tilting his head slightly back so that he's asking for the approval of both passers-by and God Almighty. This makes me happy. After all, the guy obviously loves Sulla, so much that the simple act of defecating close to the highway is enough to send him into religious catatonia.
Today, though, something was different. Today, as I passed the guy, he gave me (and only me!) the meanest look I have ever seen. And get this...
He suddenly had a mustache.
Does Uncle Rodney have an evil twin?