YOU'LL READ ABOUT ME SOMEDAY

I forget sometimes that I no longer live in a small town. Where most people know me or know of me. They know I'm safe or harmless, as a friend of mine claims.

I used to tuck in tags. You know the ones in the backs of shirts that want to flip out after a washing or two. We all have them on notorious shirts that have rebellion in them. Mine currently is a faded Sun Devils' shirt. It's always out. But I get no help. I used to just tuck them back in, and tell the person either before or after that I had just tucked in their tag(s). Most everyone appreciated it.

When a friend and I were playing golf on Wednesday, the cart girl stopped to refresh us with ice. As she turned around, I noticed a small bug on her back. Naturally, I picked it off and told her what I'd done. I informed her it wasn't very big, and she seemed pleased that I had helped her. But I got to thinking. What if she didn't appreciate it? What if she thought I was a freak who wanted to brush against her with my picky fingers? I guess there might be guys like that.

But when a neighbor drove past and turned around in an across the street neighbor's driveway yesterday when I was checking the mail, I waved to her. Did I know her? No. But she didn't return my wave. She looked really offended that I waved at her. She gave me a look of disgust. Like she had been violated or something by my wave.

I don't tuck in tags anymore unless I really know the person. I don't think I'll pick off bugs either. Heck, I guess I won't throw up a hand either. I could get shot or something out in the old (unfriendly) West.