Leeandro was a pain in my . . . well a pain anywhere. He was new to the group and came across as someone who liked to one-up everyone so he can look down his nose at the others. His dad owned a couple of different businesses. From what I had heard off-hand, is that they usually over-charged, under-cut, and rarely paid-up.
I was on the phone in my office and movement on the patio caught my eye. I couldn’t get a really good look at who or what was going on. Someone in a brown swede coat was on the ground whisking with a small brush into some container. I finished my phone call, and circled through the house just in time to see one of the latest cars, the ones with the ability to fake the noise of a powerful engine, instead of just not hearing anything other than electronic nothing. I could however see the red sports car disappear pretty damn quickly. My guess as to the driver? Leeandro. I easily figured out what he was doing. Tiny round ants didn’t really matter, but they were being seen in numerous unusual places around town. I saw a few on our sidewalk. I thought perhaps I should have my own little bag of tiny ants.
Our little group began showing up fairly early in the evening. There was plenty of time to share, laugh, and just be friends. Everyone was having a great time. When Leeandro showed up a number of people glad-handed him and he took over the conversation. Everything went well. We had excellent food and people were enjoying themselves until we heard, “Oh, my. . . those pesky black ants have even taken over our lovely dinner.” With his fore-finger Leeandro smashed about half a dozen of the little black ants, which sent two of our women friends to the bathroom. Leeandro was still spreading and dishing out the dirt to the rest of our friends and club members. I faded off to the entry closet and came back to the table with the comment: “I found the problem.” I held up Leeandro’s $1000 leather jacket saying, “Here’s the source.” I quickly followed through and went out the front door and threw the jacket on the ground by the front lawn sprinkler. Leeandro nearly flew over the grass as he picked up his coat and jumped in his sports car. I expected fake smoke and the sound of a powerful engine, but all we saw and heard was Leeandro beating on his coat in the front seat and inappropriate language as he disappeared down the block.
Leeandro had nearly snapped his neck when I made that announcement, holding up his coat gingerly by the collar at the same time his head turned 90 degrees. The rest of the evening went expediently well. Every one got to hold their nose up high and pretend to be Leeandro. Surprisingly he didn’t show up at the next meeting . . . nor the next. I like to be prepared.
