Our neighbors, we'll call them... Bob and Janet*... have enchanted me from day one. Not only do they spend 40% of their time here, smoking,
but 40% in the backyard enjoying life, and 20% doing heaven knows what inside that house I sometimes dream about touring, but usually never want to see for fear it will ruin the fantasy I have imagined for them in there. I hope that some day I can enjoy life as much as the two of them and only need a cigarette, a dog, and American Idol to be happy.
Yesterday I made cupcakes for them for being so fantastic, and for six cupcakes, Tom gave me:
1 Big hug
2 Trips from the front of the house to bring in our trash cans
3 offers to give us his old microwave (which he is getting rid of because apparently its popcorn capabilities have recently diminished)
4 minutes of his time, anytime, to come over and make popcorn on his new microwave
5 Invitations to his Fourth of July barbecue
and 6 ''you're awesome''s.
(Tom repeats himself a lot when he's drunk)... (Tom is always drunk).
I may be more in love with our neighbors at this point than I will ever be capable of loving a family of my own. And I think the common man would agree if he had been called awesome six times in under six minutes for six sub-par cupcakes left on his door step.
*I just realized that's the only time I used the psuedonym for my all-American neighbors, but it just doesn't seem right to not use their real and befitting names.