Sandy Supposes....

Quirk Shmirk

         Do I admit to a 'hidden' character quirk? Would it be considered peculiar? Shall I confess all here in a WDC blog? Could that oddity be my penchant for answering a query with a question? Okay, enough of the stalling tactics.

         Okay, I admit I like to watch people. I don't consider myself a creepy stalker. No harm is intended. I've yet to disturb anyone, or cross the line into voyeurism. Nothing is criminal, but then again I haven't consulted a legal expert.

         I prefer the term keen observer for my proclivity. The beauty and simplicity of it is that it requires no special gear and can be executed anywhere. All I need is my eyesight and a comfortable spot to perch upon.

         I am never hidden, yet most of the time I blend into the background.Unobtrusive is my motto. Stare, watch,observe, but never ogle, or leer. Perhaps I should qualify my actions. Stare may be too strong a word and misconstrued. I glance. I notice. Maybe I study? I remember nothing creepy. The point is to see people in their natural habitats going about their business, not spook them into unpleasant retaliatory encounters.

         So many sites exist for my people-watching. In the hustle and bustle of an airport I sit with my head on a swivel only blinking when absolutely necessary. Airport denizens, crawlers, scrabblers fascinate me. All manner of nationalities and clothing parade past me. It seems almost exotic with the rainbow colours blurring and the different scents wafting through the air.

         I marvel at the heads regally supporting turbans and the figures swishing, gliding in flowing robes. I whince at the women teetering atop tap-tapping heels. I wonder about those rushing with a cell phone glued to their ears oblivious to their surroundings. I gape at a man sauntering in a torn, scruffy pair of jeans with his rear assets exposed to everyone.

         There's a thrum that never dims. Voices rise and fall. Snatches of conversation swirl and entangle. Footsteps pitter, patter, clomp, and stomp.Garbled intercom messages intrude with buzzing static.

         For real action in motion I often plunk my derriere on a beach. Not everyone passes their time broiling in the sun. It's entertaining to observe the grandmas' attempts to keep pace with their grandchildren.Without excusing their 'advanced' years, stubborn grammies gamely splash in the water, or thrash as needs must. They flail and teeter aboard paddle boards, or struggle valiantly to pull themselves into giant inflatables risking life and limb in the process.

         The many ways children choose to move their bodies amazes me. They skip. They hop. They shuffle. They stomp. They twirl. They tip-toe. Their boundless energy is effortless.

         On a sandy beach next to a sparkling lake kids radiate joy. They soak up the sun, roll in the dirt, and absorb water while screeching, whooping and shouting.It's a people-watcher's paradise.

         Quirk? Shmirk. I suppose I'm easily amused.( 485 words )