You are pretty sure that Mrs. Lewis, the 81-year-old lady who lives down the block, has a thing for you. You're also pretty sure that Mrs. Lewis is a wealthy criminal mastermind with the power to build thousands of tiny cameras disguised as birds and scatter them around the trees outside your windows, solely to catch an occasional glimpse of you in the nude.
Everything changed between you and Mrs. Lewis back in 1981 when she wandered over to your stoop one Saturday afternoon and offered you a glass of lemonade.
"I'm a widower," you told her, "but my deceased beloved still has my heart."
Mrs. Lewis went back to her apartment and, you're certain, began plotting ways to glimpse you out of your shirts. She spent the next decade, you're certain, designing the prototype for her bird cameras, and began distributing them in the years that followed.
You're staring at thirty of her cameras right now. You're drawing on a large piece of posterboard. You're making a sign. It reads, "Would you care to join me for a cup of coffee Mrs. Lewis? It's been a long, lonely summer, and I'd prefer that the autumn not follow suit."
You hold the sign up to the bird cameras for a full minute, more than long enough for Mrs. Lewis to read it. Then you put the sign down and you wait to hear her knock on your door. If she doesn't knock, you'll have your answer.
Happy You Think The Birds Are All Hi-Tech Cameras That Are Trying To Catch Sight Of You Naked Day!
