We don't have a fence around our house, so it's easy for randoms to just walk through our yard and peek into our daily lives, like stalkers, but with a permit to be looky-loos.
Some kids, not my kids, were in our backyard yesterday hollering and whooping it up and playing some strange amalgam of football and dodgeball. The strangeness of their ballet dance enthralled me for a second.
Until Prince saw them. Then it was just five agonizing minutes of telling (yelling at) him to stop your barking already! Please? and getting him to chew on a toy he just stares at and has always despised.
I'm a smart pet owner that way.
I went back to washing the dishes, looking out the window and making faces that included eye rolls (my specialty), smirking, grimacing and narrowing my eyes into a focused glare.
The dish brush rattled against the sink as I threw it down when the football came crashing violently into our sliding door, the boys kept taunting the dog and Prince lost his fool mind.
Walking with strides of one part determination, two parts pissed-offedness (it's a word, Encyclopedia Britannica), I went to the sliding down and did my mom stare at the kids.
What are you doing? I yelled at the kids through the glass.
They all shrugged their slim shoulders and looked at one another, probably thinking what is wrong with this woman? And then they continued to shake their heads meekly at me and say, nothing.
I walked away one more time because I could feel my heart racing and suddenly my lungs forgot how to fill with air and I needed my inhaler.
When I came back from my minutes long, harried journey into the hearts of darkness that is my purse, I found the kids taunting Prince again.
I stepped up to the sliding door again and with all my energy yelled, GET OFF MY LAWN, YOU KIDS and I mumbled some random mutterings under my breath about youth.
As the boys stood there, not sure what type of Twilight Zone they just walked into, I contemplated when it was I turned into an ogre.
This week I learned that forty has not been kind to me and I expect forty-one to truly make minced meat of me and:
- my navigation skills uber-suck and I love cats?
- this brain o' mine is really stupid when it comes to my health
- I should have become a nutritionist
The interwebs is an infinite and mysterious place:
- there are betting odds for what royal baby number two will be named
- THIS was the first in-flight movie
- 10 original reviews of classic works of lit - it ain't pretty
- Are women the only people that make cupcakes? Fuck no. There are kids, men, boys, girls, maybe aliens. I don't know, but the title of this post makes me bristle. And I realize there are books and other posts with this same issue, but I'm not going to list them here, because that would take me like forever to list and remember? I'm lazy.