There is a hostile man living in Abe’s neighborhood. The man had bothered Abe on a few occasions, always coming out of his house and giving Abe the evil eye as he passed. Abe didn’t understand this, seeing as he hardly ever stepped in the man’s yard, and when he did, his parents always picked up after him.

Well, things got dog-ugly on Friday. As he and his parents walked past the man’s house, he heard the man’s front door open and close. Then Abe heard his dad shout “What are you doing?” Abe and his mom had gotten ahead of Dad, so they turned around to see what was happening.

The mean man had been hiding around the corner of his house taking pictures of Abe and his family. He said that he was keeping a record of all the dogs in the neighborhood. The man looked threatening. Abe had not even stepped off the sidewalk into the man’s yard, and now he and his family were being treated like criminals. After this episode, Abe started to feel downright unwelcome in his own neighborhood. He wondered if this was a good place for a dog to live.

Today, a pickup stopped outside Abe’s dwelling, and someone jumped out to leave a note on the front door. More harassment from the mean man? No, it was a letter from an admirer. A girl dog, who describes herself as small and brown, has seen Abe and wants to have a date with him. Abe is standing a little taller today. He is feeling good.

The purple-shirted boobie in its native habitat:

So Greg and I went out for a nice dinner tonight, and he, of course, wore his spiffy new shirt. We had a reservation but got there a few minutes early, so we had to wait. As we were waiting, a tall, thin man exited the restaurant. He stared blatantly at Greg, so I turned to see why he was staring. And here is why I prefer nonfiction to fiction — because some things are too fantastic to make up. The man was wearing a purple and white checked shirt very much like Greg’s. Two purple-shirted boobies in one restaurant. A pair of boobies!

In the tae kwon do club that Greg trained with, part of the belief system was that you do not charge for classes. You learn for free, so in return, you pass on your knowledge to others for free. While Greg does not charge the students he is teaching, they occasionally bring him gifts. He has told them this is unnecessary, but sometimes they want to show their gratitude.

A few weeks ago, Greg came home with a purple and white checked shirt. He explained that one of his students have given it to him. It was very nice — long-sleeves, button-down, Ralph Lauren — but I had never seen Greg wear purple. In fact, it is nearly impossible to get Greg to wear any color other than green. He considers blue a feminine color. The shirt had a gift receipt, so I asked him if he wanted me to exchange it for a different color. He said he wanted to try it on first.

Well, he buttoned it up, and here was the preppiest Greg I had ever seen. In high school, I always dreamed of marrying a guy like this, someone who wore khakis and button-down shirts every day, yet looked totally effortless. But I didn’t marry a preppy. I married a Greg.

“What do you think?” he asked.

“It’s really not you,” I said. “It’s a very nice shirt, but I can’t imagine you wearing it.”

Greg looked at himself in our dresser mirror. Then he walked into the bathroom and eyed himself there.

“I wonder why he chose purple,” I said. “Maybe he thinks you’re like royalty. You’re King Greg.”

Well, that did it.

Greg strutted back into the bedroom, his chest puffed out and chin held high, looking not completely unlike a dancing blue-footed boobie.

“King Greg,” he said in a deep, purring voice. “Yes, I like that.”

So he’s keeping the shirt. Thank goodness it’s a button-down because otherwise it wouldn’t fit over his inflated head.