November 5, 2010 by Marj Hatzell
And they moved the toilet from the front lawn. So kind of them.
Here’s the thing about our neighborhood: it rocks. There are tons of kids, friendly people everywhere. I know the name of every dog in the neighborhood (but sometimes have problems remembering the names of the owners). It’s the kind of place that you can go ask a neighbor for a cup of sugar or a juice box if you are packing lunches at 6:30am and realize you have nothing for your kids’ lunches. Not that I do that or anything (it was 6:45). And we give each other keys to each others’ houses because SOME OF US lock their keys in the car (running) on a regular basis. Ahem.
And even though one of our favorite neighbors moved we still consider them our neighbors and we still love ’em to pieces and they’ll always be “our neighbors” when I speak of them because I SAID SO, DAMMIT. Not that I fear change or anything. Nope. Not me.
And? Our neighbors are the kinds of people who cover your arse in an emergency. Like if your kid, say, climbs the Dining Room hutch and knocks a vase onto his head and slices his head open down to the skull, resulting in an all-night ER visit the night before you drive across the country on vacation? Yeah. That.
It’s f*cking Mayberry, Dammit. Without Opie. But we have our share of cute redheads missing teeth.
I know you’re jealous. Shoulda moved here when you had the chance. No worries, though, because I’m fairly certain another house will open up soon. And I might tell you about it, because I’m awesome like that.