Lloyd's Stash

People are weird. Good weird, but weird nonetheless. They do weird things that, perhaps, seem completely normal to them but to an outside observer come across as, well, weird.

Take my parents and the tin of chewing tobacco (Grizzly Wintergreen) they keep in their red webber grill as an example.

While a grill isn't where one normally stores their chew, or so I'd imagine, that isn't the weird thing. The weird thing is that the tin of fine cut Grizzly doesn't even belong to either of my parents. It belongs to Lloyd, our 84 year old neighbor.

Known by all on our block as "the mayor" because he's lived on West Roberta Avenue forever, Lloyd has a dark secret that he keeps safely hidden from his wife, Vera, in our grill . . . namely, his continuing affair with the Griz.

It is disconcerting to hear our grill cover being moved early in the morning, late at night, or whenever Vera happens to be out. It can happen at anytime. A tell-tale sign that the mayor has a hankering for some sweet-sweet-wintergeeen-action is seeing his little blue fishing cap sneak by our kitchen window. That sight is always followed by the metal on metal clanking of our grill cover.

While my folks are apparently cool with being enablers, I'm not sure what to make of it . . . it is all so, well, weird.

Such is life.