The Little Yellow House

There is a little yellow house at the end of a road somewhere, small enough for one little me.  It's my escape place - the imaginary world in my head that i can wear a dress and heels everyday, stroll down the pier at sunset, and be at peace with everything in life.  

It's really quite a lovely little neighborhood with young families and children who play out in the street together.  When I come home from a busy day, the kids cheerfully wave hello, then go about their game.  They have no idea how much joy their happiness brings other people.  Their laughter is contagious and no matter how long of a day it is, their welcome always manages to erase all the stress of responsibility.  

Anyways, on the corner of the neighborhood is a grumpy old man who sits out on his rocking chair every afternoon just smoking his pipe with his arms crossed across his suspenders.  For some reason, we form a bond and he becomes like my grandpa - overprotective and completely irrational. Under all his decorum of being a tough guy his softspot always manages to reveal itself and discredit all the pretenses.  We understand each other, and he offers the wisdom of life experience to me while I return the optimism of an invincible youth.  He's the old-fashioned kind of man who will scowl at a guy who doesn't shake his hand firmly.  He assures me that no man who isn't good enough will ever be allowed to put a toe into our neighborhood without being approved first.  

So every Friday night I scuttle on over and make dinner for us, (thats right, in my dream I can cook) and we just digest the week, the past, the future - anything really that comes to mind.  

One day I am taking my time down at the pier and walking along when a big gust of wind blows all of my papers into the wind, and the story I've been working on scatters onto the beach.  As I rush to try and recover everything, an exceptionally attractive young man happens to be walking by as well.  Being a complete gentleman and officer, he gathers up some of my papers and hands them to me with a gorgeous smile.  And, because it's me, I whisper some awkward thank you and look down and run away because I don't know how to handle the situation.

Back home I laugh about how ridiculous I always manage to be in potentially perfect scenarios, then grab the cookies and head on over to the Old Man's house for our traditional dinner.  I call a quick hello on my way into the kitchen, still a bit frazzled.  With the lemonade in one hand and the snickerdoodles in the other, I walk towards the screen door and announce that I made a complete fool of my self and can't wait to tell the story.  I get onto the porch mid-sentence and find myself face-to-face with the man from the beach.  It's at that moment that Grumpy Man introduces his grandson and quietly chuckles to himself as he watches the beginning of a whole new story unfold.

So, the little yellow house has been my favorite daydream since the beginning of high school.  Laugh at my ridiculous romanticism, because someday you'll laugh again when everything actually comes true.

The end.