Foxy Boxing!

In retrospect, I started chronicling the events at Maison Double Wide too late. He's lost much of the whacky white trash character that used to dominate his oh-so public behaviour (we were, however, treated to an extended "Kitty! Kitt-ay! Mega Mix" this morning). Part of this, I think, is his acquisition of at least one roommate over the summer, known in our household as Skinny Effeminate Roommate (SER). There's less of the hanging on the front step, leaving the front door open all day and evening. In a way, I'm almost nostalgic …

Then again, just when I think the days of cheap-ass wine and roses from a dumpster are over, my refugee from the trailer park comes back to prove that he still hasn't lost it. To wit, his apparent training for The Big Fight. A month or so ago, we noticed that he was skipping rope in front of his house periodically. Odd, but it's in front of the house so I suppose it was in character. Then one evening, Double Wide had a bunch of friends over, just standing about on the lawn. Next thing I know, he's got on a pair of boxing gloves and showing the gang his moves—whap whap whap! Take that imaginary opponent! My wife said to me: "That's what the rope skipping is—he thinks he's a boxer."

And, indeed, since then, he comes outside at any given time, day or evening, to skip rope for a bit. Occasionally, SER takes a turn while Double Wide rests (I guess they only have one skip rope). There's also the occasional shadow boxing (or is it just straight air boxing as he does it in the middle of the front yard or the sidewalk?).



Where's Burgess Meredith with a live chicken when you need him?


The Great White Trash Hope, in repose, on a tv stand

It seemed, for some time, that that was it. Skip rope, air box. But then, Double Wide brought out a heavy bag and attached it to a tree in the front yard. Whoa-ho, thought I, am I witnessing greatness? Then again, thought I, probably not.



Just two more years till the Oympics, just two more years till the Olympics …

All this does beg several question: does he actually box? if so, why doesn't he train at a gym? does he do this to impress or intimidate the neighbourhood? does he hear the stifled laughs? why doesn't he play the theme song from "Rocky" when he's skipping rope? And, once again, what kind of person conducts his life almost exclusively in his front yard?!?