If I had resolved to make 2008 “The Year I Quit Using Profane Language,” I would have failed within the first 22 minutes.
As expected, every neighbor around me was whooping it up for the New Year. I don’t have a problem with that considering it was New Year’s Eve.
But what I do have a problem with is when said noisy neighbors begin to roam between my house and theirs, crunching dried leaves with each step and not knowing when to keep their collective mouth shut.
Ya see, the houses in my neighborhood are really close together. In our case, there couldn’t be no more than, say, 20 feet between them and it’s not uncommon to hear my trailer-trash neighbors arguing, fighting, etc. on any given day. It’s like we live with them only without the mess. And being that our bedroom windows practically line up with each other, we always keep our blinds shut. (In stark contrast to them leaving their window open all night so that their cats can come and go as they please.)
Anyway, it was about 12:15am on New Year’s Day when I heard one of the transient (or permanent) residents mention something about having to relieve himself. Within minutes, I heard the crunching of leaves between the two houses and then dead silence. I was still awake since Ann was up watching that stupid ball drop in NYC just a few minutes before.