August 17, 2005

These are the People in Your Neighborhood

And some of them are kind of nutty. Hublet and I were chatting with our neighbor who lives at the end of the cul-de-sac the other evening. She had come out to ask us if we'd been struck by the doorbell ringing bandits yet--we hadn't, and all agreed that school starting again would be a good thing--who had paid her a visit at 1:30 a.m. Ah, the teen years. Those sad, lame, painful years of crushing boredom punctuated by moments of peer-induced panic, overlayed with a veneer of ironic detachment. Gah. My Darwin-inspired theory on teendom is that if you can make it through that, you're going to do just fine the rest of your life. But that's not the point.

In the course of our conversation, our neighbor casually mentioned that a fellow who lives up the street from her (his house is between hers and ours) had been seen on more than one occasion and by more than one cul-de-sac resident lurking around in the wee hours dressed in camoflage, complete with mask. Umm, okay. Why he would do this is a complete mystery, and I'm hoping that he's merely an insomniac reliving his glory days of playing "army" in the woods with his friends. Yes, I know that's unlikely, and yes, I am glad that we have a security system installed, as well as a seriously pointy cavalry sword. I am also pleased to report that his house is currently on the market. If anyone out there is looking to relocate to a starter home in a sleepy country development, CALL ME. Today would be nice.

Then I started thinking about the "nutty neighbor" phenomenon. Growing up, there were two folks in my neighborhood who were a bit off. I believe one of them was mentally disabled, because she would stand on the corner and ask my friends and I if we had any smokes every time we passed by going from one house to another to play. We were nine at the time, and while I'm sure there were some proto-delinquents out there puffing away at that tender age, none of my friends qualified. The second one was what my dad used to call a "professional crank." From what I could gather, he didn't like the gummint. His means of protest, therefore, was to mow his lawn clad only in a jock strap. Hilarity, of course, ensued. He did this fairly often, as well.

But bumming Camels off of nine year olds and doing the jock strap cha-cha on the front lawn as a form of tax protest are a far cry from wargames in the wee hours.

Did I mention that our neighborhood is quite the restful, bucolic sort of place? We have a pretty decent Fourth of July parade, too, and we're only 2 miles from the elementary school. House for sale, y'all! CALL ME.

Posted by Big Arm Woman at August 17, 2005 09:05 AM
Comments

Of course, another possible nuttiness is imagining a neighbor runs around in cammies in the wee hours....

Posted by: PersonFromPorlock at August 17, 2005 11:00 AM