Do you want to know how my weekend was?
Well, it went something like this:
No, I wasn’t being called names. That was my doorbell being abused by the neighborhood kids who constantly feel the need to molest it.
For some reason they all like to gather in OUR garage. I do not like this. Why don’t they play in Billy’s garage? Why must they stay in ours? I see that Billy has toys scattered in his garage—aren’t they getting bored with our toys? They must be!
“People aren’t sharing!” kids will whine to me after they’ve leaned on the doorbell.
Go tell your OWN parents. Jesus.
But of course I’ll have to pop out and do the Mom thing even though I was looking forward to quiet because at that point I had just put Natalie down for her nap. I was hoping to type out a chapter in my novel or at the very least, a few pages. Something. But no. I had to give that up and deal with other people’s children.
“Please share,” I informed the group through clenched teeth.
“Chase is being mean!” a little girl told me seriously, pointing to the brat who has been known to make fun of Tommy. His parents seem like fabulous people, really. I went over to introduce myself and I was in the middle of going, “Hi, I’m Amber, I’m Tommy Mo—” but then the father’s cell phone went off and he actually HELD UP A FINGER at me and answered it. Then he proceeded to carry on a conversation about biking (!) so I just walked off and sarcastically said, “It was lovely to meet you too…”
So really, this Chase kid doesn’t seem to have the greatest parents. I haven’t even seen the Mom yet and I’ve been here for nearly three years. I’m wondering if Creepy Biker Dad keeps her caged.
“If you aren’t going to be nice, then you can go home,” I said loudly to everyone because I know it’s not fun to be singled out.
Then I went back inside and started to write a few sentences in my novel. I was starting to get into a groove. The words were flowing, my grammar seemed to be on par, the dialogue seemed plausible, the---
“For the love of chocolate!” I shrieked and stomped to the door.
“Yes?” I practically yelled at the girl standing there.
“Um...people aren’t sharing the water guns,” she informed me.
“Then go home!” I wanted to shout.
But I’m too nice so I went out and said that people had to share, for the love of God, SHARE! Didn’t they learn that lesson in preschool?
I came back in. I had already lost my writing groove so I decided to watch some Gilmore Girls because it’s possibly one of the best shows out there. I started to get involved with the plot even though I already knew the outcome. But it doesn’t matter, with a show like Gilmore Girls you can always---
“Why do I even bother?” I muttered as I paused the show. I walked over to the door.
“Some kids are breaking stuff,” the same girl said.
I hurried out and saw that they had taken apart one of Tom’s things that he uses for his models. It’s some sort of bottom that helps his diagrams stay up.
Look, I don’t even know exactly what it is. I just knew that it was now in pieces all along my garage.
Right, you little shits, what is WRONG with you all!!? This was on the tip of my tongue but I forced it down.
“Who did this?” I demanded. “Who did this?”
Of the six kids standing there, no one would confess.
“You can’t just take apart people’s things!” I shouted, throwing the pieces into a plastic bag. “Please be good out here! I was in the middle of watching a very good episode of Gilmore Girls where Dean breaks up with Rory since she keeps making eyes at Jess!”
The kids just blinked up at me in confusion. They had no idea what I was going on about.
I wished I could be mean like Tom. The kids are afraid of Tom and if they see his truck in the driveway, they basically stay away. Because one time they started to get rough with one of Tommy’s toys and Tom went out there and went, “How about I come to your house and start throwing YOUR toys on the ground?”
And then when a few of them got too close to his beloved truck he suddenly screamed, “DON’T TOUCH MY TRUCK! You don’t want to know what will happen if you do!”
But I can’t do that. No. Instead all I can manage is, “You can’t just take apart people’s things!” which doesn’t exactly have the same effect as Tom’s “DON’T TOUCH MY TRUCK!”
I went back in and started to watch a bit more Gilmore Girls but then I heard the sound of running water outside and realized they were messing with the hose.
This was my breaking point.
I stepped outside and saw that our poor lawn was drowning in water. It was like a giant puddle outside the front door.
“Okay, it’s time for everyone to go home. The garage is closed. Bye bye now,” I said and started to shut the garage door.
“Wait! Misty is still in there!” a girl shrieked so I held open the door and a terrified looking blond raced out from behind a bunch of plastic totes that they had stacked up. This also infuriated me because hello, don’t touch other people’s plastic totes! Is that not a rule?
I told Tommy he could go play with his friends at THEIR houses if he wished but that ours was closed for business.
Tommy shrugged. “I’m done playing. Those kids give me a headache,” he said.
Tommy is just like me. He doesn’t mind hanging out with people but after a few hours we like to retreat and enjoy some silence.
I am so not going to be the Mom who invites a bunch of teenagers in the house. No way. They can go hang at someone else’s home.
Plus, if one of them accidentally hit Tom’s truck, I honestly think some blood would be shed and Tom would wind up in jail.
So future friends of Tommy and Natalie? Please piss off and go somewhere else. Thanks. Because this house contains a semi anti-social writer and a man semi-obsessed with his truck. Just so you know.