Fresh Old Meat

I recently moved into Roman Gardens apartments. I’m not Roman and the whole thing is a cement jungle without any plants. Personally, I feel a little gypped. Moving, mid-semester, means that I am now “the new guy” in the complex. I can’t remember ever being “the new guy.” I’ve been “the tall guy,” “the weird guy,” “the good-looking guy,” “the ugly guy,” “the fishing guy,” and “the blogger guy” but never “the new guy.” It’s about time. So on Sunday, I felt like the “fresh meat” in my new ward as girl vultures circled in for a closer look. I had several who rapidly introduced themselves starting with their names, apartment numbers, and ring sizes. Four girls in particular decided to walk me to my car. It’s good to be “the new guy.” I trust they felt a deep sense of duty to protect, “the new guy.” While walking, one of them decided to play the “do you know Game.” I told her that I’m better with faces than names and also that it had been a while since High School. “A while,” she pondered, “when did you graduate?” I told her the blessed year of ‘97. “What about you four?” I asked. Suddenly a high pitched squeal broke the peaceful silence of the calm Sunday morning. In unison they replied, “2005!” As you can imagine, this was followed by several giggles that only 18 year old girls can fully achieve. Perhaps there will be a “new girl” next week.