Neighborhood Watch
In the past few days or so, I've gotten new neighbors. Now, since I don't have the best of luck with neighbors, one of the features I love most about my house is that it's on the end of a cul-de-sac (since I don't live in a suburb, I think I'm really on a dead end rather than a cul-de-sac, but bygones). Because of my prime location, I only have one real neighbor rather than the customary two.
The house next door to me has also been vacant since August, so I've gotten really spoiled with the whole no neighbors thing. No one keeps me up late at night with loud trance music, no one wakes me up mowing the lawn at sun up on Saturdays and no one knocks on the door trying to sell me wrapping paper or candy bars for their kid's school.
Since neighbors aren't my favorite thing, I was hoping for a quiet young professional or someone who travels a lot. I did not want frat boys.
Unfortunately, based on the number of beer bottles by the trash can one Sunday morning, I figured my worst nightmare had come true -- I had fratastic neighbors.
Great, I thought. Now there are going to be parties all the time. And music. And kegs. And they'll probably even expect me to come to some of the parties. Ugh.
Yesterday, I finally met these new neighbors, who I think are college seniors.
"I'm Laurel, and I'm sorry I haven't introduced myself sooner."
"No worries. I'm John."
"Are y'all renting, John?"
"Yes ma'am."
Ma'am. Now, I've been called "ma'am" before, but it was always by my little cousins or tweens at the mall whose moms were watching. No one in college has ever called me ma'am. Ever. A few years ago, guys his age were hitting on me. Now they call me ma'am.
"I hope we didn't keep you up the other night," John said next.
Now, not only am I a ma'am, but I'm also the dreaded lady neighbor who might call the cops if you have too much fun. I kept thinking about the Friends episode when Chandler becomes the angry downstairs neighbor who pounds on the ceiling to make the noise stop.
On the bright side, I guess I don't need to worry about having to attend their parties. Apparently, the only way my new neighbors expect to see me when they're socializing is if I show up in a bathrobe and curlers demanding that they "turn that darn boom box down."