Double Post may seem to be a good old-fashioned gal to many of you out there in blogland, but I assure you that throughout her life, she has been pursued by a motley array of amusing characters who found her charms irresistible.

For our own amusement, let's recount them here every Friday until I run out of stories. Don't worry, you can count on this being basically a permanent feature.

Let's travel back in time to Double Post's childhood...


Double Post and my eldest sister both attended Catholic school just across from the public school I myself would attend 10 years later than they. The schools were within walking distance; I'd say about three-four blocks from our home.

One day, Double Post was walking to school alone. Why was our eldest not with her, seeing as they are but one year apart in age? I don't know. I do know it was a Thursday, because Thursday is garbage collection day in our childhood neighborhood.

As she walked, the garbage truck loomed up behind her and lurched to a stop in front of a house to empty the cans. A filthy, disheveled trash collector with one yellow tooth dangling in his cavernous maw* spotted my sister and grinned lecherously.

With a menacing chuckle, he asked her, "How's yer ole tomater?" Then he laughed uproariously.

Not understanding the question, my sister continued on her way to school, picking up her pace a bit. Unfortunately, the garbage truck was taking the same route as she was. So, every few feet, as the garbage truck pulled up to the next house, the creepy old man would emerge from the truck to repeat his question: "How's yer ole tomater?" Each time he would laugh as if he delivered the greatest joke in the history of human comedy.

Double Post hurried, but the truck caught up to her each time, and as she heard the brakes squeal to a stop, she knew what she would hear next: "How's yer ole tomater?"

Luckily, there is a dead end at a field when you come to the school, and a bridge over a small creek. He could not follow her once she reached this point, but his voice could. He shouted over and over, "How's yer ole tomater? HOW'S YER OLE TOMATER?" his laughter echoing against the school walls.

She never encountered her first love again, although she's thought of him often since. And thus began Double Post's lifetime as a sex symbol. And my question is, where was my mom's overprotective anxiety at this point? It was as absent as my eldest sister. Poor Double Post.

*Actually, I have no idea what he looked like. I'm guessing.