It’s so tempting to blog what my Loud Neighbors do. Not that it’s particularly interesting. Believe me, it’s not, that’s why I don’t. This afternoon, when I finally managed to focus and start being productive, I heard Grandpa outside yelling for the boys to get out of the “pool” (an above-ground bathtub-esque construction) and pick up the yard because their father was coming home to take them to get haircuts.
Their reply: “That’s stupid.”
When I’m in public, I’m painfully aware of who can hear me. Not that it ever matters. No one gives a damn about whatever personal saga I’m relating to my patient and generous friends. But I do try to watch what I’m saying --- in public. Sure, I’ve been guilty of the occasional, “So what happened when they lanced it?” faux conversation in elevators. Who hasn’t? I’m talking about in general. Usually I pay attention.
Maybe that’s why I’m so appalled by my neighbors. The parents as well as the children prefer yelling to talking. Although they eschew profanity for the most part, their favorite words include “liar”, “cheater” and “stupid”. Still, they’re kind to their dog, which is significant.
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