Neighborly Advice

My neighbors are always so helpful. They’ll alert you to the presence of werewolves, specifically target local thieves and critique your dance moves. They will even give thoughtful advice on waste disposal.

I really want to add a colon after “thought.”

Getting this picture involved two masterful u-turns by my intrepid driver. It’s all good. Her baby slept through the whole episode.

Me: “Oh my God! There was writing on that furniture! Something about  a break up!”

Intrepid Driver: “Should I go back?”

Me: “You’re going to have to. You missed the road to my house.”

I could hardly contain myself and was squeaking by the second u-turn. I so badly wanted this to be the result of an epic breakup. I envisioned one half of the couple angrily tearing out this cabinet, throwing it at the curb, and then scrawling a tearful message to alert the world and the neighborhood as to the heartache of love. Clearly this is the protocol in my neighborhood.

I imagined that this was just another in a long line of HGtv inspired fights as remodeling the kitchen turned in to reevaluating the relationship. If you can’t agree on the backsplash than why go on? Better yet, the beginning of the sentence that I was able to glance at as we sped by, implied that the message could have been from another neighbor who was tired of listening to hammering and crying all day! “Here’s a thought: break up and put all of us and your kitchen out of its misery.

At least I was right about it being a message from another neighbor. Just some helpful advice implying that the cabinet has been sitting there for years. This was my first viewing, but I’m usually the one driving and don’t have the ability to read random cabinetry and keep my car on the road.

So the vision changed. Late at night, there is a clandestine meeting of neighbors hidden in the shadows of a tree across the street. Their enraged whispers simmering with disgust at the re-modeler’s inability to properly dispose of some really ugly cabinetry. What is the top of it anyway? At the height of their rally, one emissary slinks across the road, fat-tipped Sharpie in hand. Wishing they had lit the way with torches like the angry mob they are, the predetermined message is hastily inked across their target. A dog barks in the distance, but no house lights come on.

Satisfied with the righteousness of their advice, they scatter back to their suburban bedrooms. They will glance knowingly at their handwork in the light of tomorrow. Meeting briefly again under the tree to praise the spelling, but condemn the sentence structure.


4 thoughts on “Neighborly Advice

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