Gorgeous isn’t the point. Insanity is the point. Stalking is the point. But I had a peep hole on my door so I decided I’d take a look. Before I describe what I saw, I must relate what Brad told ME about his enormously well bred looks. He had described himself in earlier (short) phone conversations and long, laborious emails as a Brad Pitt lookalike, a veritable Adonis, a walking time bomb of steamy sexual energy just waiting to be released on the unsuspecting female population. But really, none of that matters if Brad Pitt is a complete lunatic, right? I know some women would disagree, but I was really in no mood for lunatics—even gorgeous, steamy, running-amok lunatics.
Kate sat on the stairs behind me while I peered out the peep hole. Then I turned back to her.
Ang: Kate, if you were to take a bat and beat me about the head with it I’d still look better than what is standing on our porch right now.
Kate: (Laughing) Open the door, Mom. Let’s take a look at him.
Ang: Are you insane? He might be a murderer or something!
Kate: (Looking out the peep hole at Brad) We could take him, Mom. Noooooo problem.
Then we both started laughing because I knew she was right. So I opened the door.
I remember Brad so vividly and yet I think the trauma of his visage appearing on my front porch occasionally clouds the moment. He was about five feet three inches (is Brad Pitt really that short?) and weighed…oh, in the neighborhood of around 250 lbs. His hair looked like a rusty old brillo pad and his skin was the color of yellow chalk. But it was his sideburns that locked my gaze. They were ENORMOUS. They looked like a couple of wild, bristly squirrels that had been flattened as roadkill and then glued to the sides of his waggling jowls. His bottom lip protruded from the rest of his face like Pier 14. And those were just his God-given physical attributes.
