We actually met in the laundry room when he popped out of a bath towel. I jumped, thinking he was a big rat since rumor has it, we had one the size of Kansas.
Frank, the super, denies this of course, but three wash and folds confirm the story.
Miles’s father is an Iranian hottie who my neighbor, Max, thinks is a terrorist. Now now, I tell her, just because he travels, carries an attache case and doesn’t say much doesn’t make him a member of ISIS, but she’s not convinced.
Well, maybe Miles and his overall cuteness will sway her. I asked Isadora, Miles’s father’s housekeeper, why he named him Miles and apparently he’s a huge fan of jazz great, Miles Davis.
See, that made him less of a terrorist in my eyes since, I’ve never heard of one being musical. Max, not a huge animal lover, said she bets the dog is trained to kill, and we all better watch our backs.
I thought of this while Miles laid on his for an impromptu belly rub. “So Miles, you’re not hiding a knife in your collar now are ya?” He didn’t answer, so I’m taking that for a no.
I told Max, as long as he’s not taking flying lessons, I think we’re alright.