Sometimes, people will surprise ya ...

After days of letting the central air run, I opened the windows this morning since it was such a gorgeous day (and I didn't have to work till tonight.)

Not long after letting the fresh air in the house, something else came in: F-bombs shouted in a very angry voice. I was less than thrilled and within five minutes I was ready to either go over there and tell them to shut up, or call the sheriff's office. While the neighbors aren't close (and I have never heard anything like that from her place before), sound carries pretty far around these parts.

Besides, I'm not a nice person before I've had my coffee.

Mr. Rosie came in about the same time I was about to make my decision, and I told him about my extreme displeasure with whoever was cussing over at the neighbors. He went over there and casually mentioned that his wife (me) wasn't thrilled about the language. They apologized and that was that.

I was back to enjoying my gorgeous day. Soon, the entire episode had slipped from my mind.

I got home from covering an event tonight, and there was an envelope by my computer, addressed to both me and my husband. It was unopened, so I opened it after asking the hubby where it came from.

It was a hand-delivered, handwritten apology from my neighbor's adult son, the one who had been cussing up a blue streak, apologizing and promising that it would not happen again.

 

Knew this thread wouldn't be about Brett Favre.

 

No one would ever guess that about you.

 

If I were the neighbor, I probably would have told your husband that if an occasional outburst of profanity were that discomforting, he ought to consider moving to a Unibomber hut out in the woods where his family would not have to be around people.

Our home before this one, the neighbors on one side of us were holy rollers. I was moving some stuff I didn't want the movers handling. Had a big box of shit and took a tumble on the slightly hilly front lawn and sprained the heck out of an ankle. I was writhing on the lawn and cussing a blue streak with holy man standing over me, saying, "What's the matter? What's the matter?" I half expected him to attempt an exorcism. His fucking problem, really. It's not like I planned the outburst or took the Lord's name in vain because I wanted to see my neighbor's face turn purple.

 

Frank, we do live out in the woods. It's not like we live in a city where the houses are practically on top of each other.

That particular neighbor is a divorced older woman (whom we adore, by the way), it was her son who doesn't even live there making the commotion. The ruckus went on for quite some time, so it could hardly be classified as an outburst. And if, as far away as my home is, I could hear it, it was too loud. It sounded like a domestic.

And I certainly have heard my fair share of swearing and cussing over the years.

: : :

 

Frank's reaction after learning that Rosie does indeed live 'out in the woods'