“Good morning, America!”

He says this to me every morning, usually as I’m passing him on my way out the door, while he unloads the power tools I’m trying to escape.

“Good morning, Evidio.”

“All this noise I’m making. I’m going to have to take you out to dinner to repay you.” He raises both hands in surrender, beaming. “I have no choice! I must take you out!”

He’s a smooth operator. Always smiling, always cracking jokes. When he and his crew have to work at my place, I make coffee and breakfast, and it’s been nice getting to know him over the years. He was very supportive during the strike, even though it meant less work for him, too. He started working on a project just at the same time my job ended, so we’ve been seeing more of each other lately than usual.

This morning I was on my way back in from a run.

“Good morning, America!”

“Good morning, Evidio.”

“You went exercising.”

“I did.”

“Nothing gets by me! Ha! Let me ask you something. How much do you run every day? How many miles?”

“Not every day, Evidio. Not every day at all. And not that far.”

“I don’t know why you do it. It’s not necessary. Why do you exercise all the time when you already have a very beautiful body?”

Evidio. I’m covered in sweat and have mud on my “Reading is Sexy” t-shirt, and maybe it’s because I’m tired or I’ve been listening to Ludacris on twelve for the past hour, but let’s just do this. Let’s just go, you and me. I think I saw your car out there, the one you’ve got parked under the carport because it’s supposed to rain today and you don’t have any back windows. The car filled with scratchy blankets? That’s all we need. Let’s DO THIS. I will rock your world, little tan man.

“…And look at you. You make any man happy. Such a lucky man, who has you. Any man out there should be thanking God to see you, bowing down when you pass. Why are they not all lined up out here? I don’t get it.”

Aw, crap. You went too far. This is the speech you give your brother’s ugly daughter. Dammit, Evidio!