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Keep It Down, You Punks!
It's only a matter of time before I start wearing really unflattering housedresses and get even more cats... A couple of weeks ago, I gave a stern late-night talking-to to some college kids sitting on the front wall and gossiping late at night. And then a day or two later, I shouted at noisy middle-schoolers.
Just now, I got up from my comfy chair, where I was ensconced with my laptop and a bridal magazine (I'm getting addicted to these things - so fun to cut up for my "ideas" scrapbook!), put on my Birkenstocks, and trudged across the street to what has lately become the neighborhood party house. I let myself into the yard, walked up to the screened porch, and summoned the attention of one of the many very loud, very drunk young men playing ping-pong therein.
"I want to talk to someone who lives here," I declared, authoritatively.
I think they're probably good boys, at heart. They were all very polite - if smashed - and apologized for being so noisy, promised they'd go in the backyard, and said they hoped they wouldn't bother me again. I said I hoped so too. And then they all wanted to shake my hand and tell me their names (which I promptly forgot), and get my name again (I had introduced myself at the start of the conversation, as one does).
I dunno if their beer goggles were working overtime, and they've decided to shut up in order to impress the Neighbor-Who-Appears-Hot-Late-on-Fridays, or if they're worried I'll call the police, or if they genuinely don't mean to be such a nuisance and only need to have their obnoxity pointed out to them. Whichever it is, they're being reasonably quiet now.
We'll see how long that lasts.
Just now, I got up from my comfy chair, where I was ensconced with my laptop and a bridal magazine (I'm getting addicted to these things - so fun to cut up for my "ideas" scrapbook!), put on my Birkenstocks, and trudged across the street to what has lately become the neighborhood party house. I let myself into the yard, walked up to the screened porch, and summoned the attention of one of the many very loud, very drunk young men playing ping-pong therein.
"I want to talk to someone who lives here," I declared, authoritatively.
I think they're probably good boys, at heart. They were all very polite - if smashed - and apologized for being so noisy, promised they'd go in the backyard, and said they hoped they wouldn't bother me again. I said I hoped so too. And then they all wanted to shake my hand and tell me their names (which I promptly forgot), and get my name again (I had introduced myself at the start of the conversation, as one does).
I dunno if their beer goggles were working overtime, and they've decided to shut up in order to impress the Neighbor-Who-Appears-Hot-Late-on-Fridays, or if they're worried I'll call the police, or if they genuinely don't mean to be such a nuisance and only need to have their obnoxity pointed out to them. Whichever it is, they're being reasonably quiet now.
We'll see how long that lasts.
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