The Return of the Suburban Gypsy

Okay, what’s the first thing that comes to mind when I say the following word…



If you first thought of a girl strolling down a suburban neighborhood barefoot and playing a guitar, then you obviously follow my blog! (And frankly, you are much smarter than you’re often given credit for.)

If you have no idea what I’m talking about, read this first.

Are you caught up now?…Okay, good…Let’s continue.

So it’s been a few weeks since the mysterious gypsy paraded through my semi-rural neighborhood, strumming her guitar and even singing for kids. My curiosity has just about gotten the best of me wondering what the heck that evening was all about. So incredibly out of place in my neck of the woods. However, school began, our lives got busy, and the gypsy was almost forgotten.

That is, until today.

I was on my way home from taking Boy #3 to his 4-year checkup, driving down the 4-lane road that takes me from the interstate to my neighborhood. I was just getting ready to turn left onto the little narrow road that leads to my house when I saw them.


It was the gypsy, the same one who walked past my house on that crazy summer night, but this time she had a friend. A friend who I’m pretty sure was not an adult but a pre-teen or teenaged girl. There they were, in all their gypsy glory, standing on the shoulder of the road. The gypsy from my neighborhood was still playing that guitar, and the girl was hula-hooping. I kid you not.

Oh, and did I mention that they were hitch-hiking?

I honestly almost drove off the road when I saw them. (And not because I wanted to give them a ride.)

Now, I learned my lesson LAST time I blogged about my puzzling gypsy friend and failed to produce a photo of said gypsy. The comments were brutal, and to be honest, I questioned my identity as a blogger. (Okay, okay, they were just fun, teasing comments, but I wanted to add a little drama…Sue me! No, please don’t really…)

So guess what, friends?!?!

I got me some PICTURES!

Yes, I drove the half-mile home, told Boy #3 to wait in the car, ran inside, grabbed my camera, ran back outside, and peeled out of the driveway in my bad-ass minivan so I could get back to the scene before someone gave them a ride.

I felt like some stealthy tabloid photographer as I rolled down the passenger window, slowing down my speed so I could hit a red light and steal a photo. I managed one before the light turned green but decided that it was not enough. So I drove into the next neighborhood and turned around in a cul-de-sac so I could hit the stoplights on the OTHER side of the road and snap a few photos of the front of the gypsies.

What? Oh, you want to SEE the photos? Well, here you go. Take a good look. Then, let me know, was I KIDDING about just how WEIRD this is? Especially for the middle of suburban Iowa?

Boy #3 didn’t know what to make of his mommy turning into an investigative reporter, either. He kept saying, “Why are we going this way again, Mommy?” and “We don’t live here!” But then he saw the girls and said, “What are the gypsies doing?” I just smiled and said, “I don’t know, honey. I really don’t know.”

I smiled the whole way home (the second time), thinking how I COULDN’T WAIT to write about this and how my sister in particular, who lives in my neighborhood, wouldn’t believe that the gypsy had returned, this time sticking out her thumb on 2nd Avenue!

Upon arriving home, I did what ANY good mom would do and sat Boy #3 down in front of the TV (Hey—it was educational programming!) so that Mommy could upload her photos and write her blog. Just as I sat down at the computer, the phone rang.

“Hello?” I said.

And this is what I heard:
“Chadito [Names have been changed to protect the innocent.] can’t believe that you wouldn’t stop and pick up the gypsy.”

It was my sister. Apparently her husband gone home for lunch and called her—laughing near the point of tears—because he, too, saw the gypsy-hula-hooping-guitar-act. Not only that, but he happened to be crossing the intersection at the exact same time I was and saw me gawking at the gypsies in disbelief!

When I returned to the scene of the absurdity a few hours later, there was no sign of the gypsy girls. I didn’t know whether to be relieved or alarmed. As bizarre as they were, I definitely didn’t wish them any harm, and I can’t say that two pretty girls hitch-hiking as they were is a very smart idea. Not to mention the fact that I am now DYING to know their story…

Oh, gypsy lady, gypsy lady…

wherefore art thou gypsy lady?


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