I like kids — not enough to hitch a ride on the baby-making train just yet, but they’re OK. For now, I’m content to stand at the loading platform and happily salute all the suckers aboard the train as it pulls away. (I apologize to my friends who are having babies. You aren’t suckers, you’re either nuts or more responsible than I care to be).
A lot of our neighbors are young couples who are riding that aforementioned train, and some already have a few growing, screaming rug-rats of their own. One such beast belongs to the neighbor who’s property borders our back yard. In an attempt to be a nice neighbor, I’ve made polite converation with his parents who seem to be lacking in parental responsibility. Oh well, he’s not my child.
At first it annoyed me to discover that he uses our yard as a pathway to squeeze his chubby butt through the fence to get to his back yard. I’d say something to his parents but I don’t want to be THAT neighbor, and I fear my words would fall on deaf ears.
On Sunday, I was working in the backyard on the collossal mound of sticks that has been rapidly reproducing ever since we moved in. And the boy — let’s call him Billy — had a little friend over. The whole time I was wrestling with the sticks, they were running in and out of my yard. Billy kept nervously glancing in my direction trying to get a feel for my attitude toward his wreckless galavanting. Mike came home. We grilled up some burgers. Ate outside at our rickety picnic table. They. were. still. in. our. yard.
My frustration with their presence began to escalate when Billy’s friend picked up a sharp stick and started waving it in Billy’s direction. Billy reacted with shrill wailing as if his friend had actually stabbed him with it. Billy is about 10 years old. “Stop it! You could really KIIIIILL me with that!!! Aaaaaaaaaaaaah” I wanted to kill the BOTH of them. Billy, for the sissy-boy screaming, and his friend, for continuing to threaten Billy. Sobbing ensued. That was the last straw. I finally turned around and said, “Come on guys, stop it!”
Where the hell were Billy’s parents throughout the whole stick fiasco?
Why couldn’t Mike and I enjoy our dinner in peace? I guess I’ll just have to be that bitchy neighbor from now on.
