Oh, doddering Mrs. Fussnpuss, how life has brought you here I dare not know. Were you always ornery, easily irritated by each passing fellow, judging safely from the slit you pry in your mini blinds? Or has years of taking shit made you who you are? Toughened you beyond an empathetic point of view. Is this what I have in store: a world that tasks me more as years slip by, no one to listen to my complaints, my perspective, my existence less valued than treated as a nuisance?
Trash gets picked up Monday morning, but because I usually stay at Dark Mistress Hawthorne's Sunday night, my empty can will set on the curb. Usually, by the time I get home, it's already been dragged to my back porch. The first few weeks this happened I was somewhat irked. I could only imagine that it bothered Fussnpuss so much that she was compelled to drag this huge can, which just about comes to her chin, all the way around my house. She'd do this, but she wouldn't leave a note, or knock, and this in turn bothered me. For crying out, I'm talking about the can setting there no later than noon after the trash was picked up.
One day I came home and saw her waddling her way backwards down my walk, plastic bin hidden in front of her. She said something like "Oh hi there. I see your can sitting there and I always figure I'd bring it back for you, I hope you don't mind." "Not at all" I said, smiling, lying. Well, half lying. I did mind, when I thought she did it because she was bothered to. Now, though, it seemed she was just being neighborly. Looking out for the nice young man next door.
Our trash day changed this week from Sunday to Thursday. This excited me because I'd finally be around to pick my can up. (Plus, I'm usually home Wednesday nights, making it more likely I'd remember to take the trash out after work.) Seriously, ask D.M.H. I don't think I ever told her why, but I know I mentioned New Trash Day day to her numerous excited times.
Thursday morning, on my way to (the final) class (of the semester!) the trash wasn't picked up. Wasn't picked up on my way back at 11 either. I didn't hear the truck come before I went to work at 2, so I left it. Apparently they did come. Apparently Mrs. Fussnpuss moved my can to the back yard again. And, apparently one of the college students that lives in the other house next to mine helped her move my can to my back yard, all the while listening to her complain about "the college kid who lives here and never bothers to take his can in."
How life has brought us here I dare not know.
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2 comments:
what?!?!
why does she care?
ev.........someone who doesn't have a name yet says, 'she's old, what else does she have to care about?'
i was going to say, 'see if you fix her toilet next time!' but then realized you would, because you really are the nice young man next door.
Latina Gladys Kravitz does that all the time, but I don't care because she's a bitch.
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