In Which I Discover I’m Almost “That” Old Woman
When I was a kid my parents bought a condo in a really nice community. It had lush common areas, a large floor plan, even a small back yard with a storage shed.
It was perfect.
It was also intended as a retirement community, but apparently Mom and Dad didn’t get that memo.
As I reached the teen years, my penchant for mischief increased exponentially. It didn’t help that the elderly residents of the complex were batshit crazy, but I think had they not been already me and my cohorts would have pushed them over the edge in due time.
One of our favorite spots to hangout, act goofy, play our music on portable radios, smoke, and eat junk food, was a common area between two large buildings that had a lovely hillside to roll down in summer or sled down in winter. One building had windows facing the common and if we were out there one nanosecond past dark a blue-haired woman stood in her window taking pictures.
Naturally, we posed and strutted or tried to time jumps in the air so she’d catch us mid-somethingcrazy. We’d also crank up the tunes and dance for her.
She’d then take those pictures and distribute amongst the various bulletin boards in the complex. Or, if she knew our parents, she’d go straight to them with the incriminating evidence of….kids being kids…dun..dun…DUNNNNN!
She called the police so many times on us that we got to know each of them on a first-name basis. They were decent enough, understanding, and exasperated with batshit crazy blue-haired women, and unruly teenagers. Whatever they were paid, it wasn’t enough.
Fast forward to a month ago when my sweet neighbor across the street apparently sold her house to me and my friends from lo those many years ago.
They act crazy, racing around the yard and up and down the street on their John Deere riding mower, have turned the workshop into a mini-club complete with a full drum set, and play music loudly at 7:00 a.m. on a Sunday morning.
I’ve lived in this house 18 years, and never called the police once. And now, I’ve called the police to complain five times in the last two weeks.
I’ve refrained from getting out the camera and standing at my window to take pictures.
I’m not ‘that’ old woman, not yet anyway.
Which reminds me, it’s time to get the bluing added to my hair.