Shut up the baby

One of the most fascinating aspects of being at home during the day is the opportunity to learn more about my neighbors. Once upon a time, my life was disrupted by a large black dog with a murderous bark. That dog has disappeared, and though I hated it with every fiber of my being, I hope that it is in a happy place.

I had an inkling of an idea that my downstairs neighbor was a babysitter during the day, but those suspicions have been confirmed with the sounds of 8:30 a.m. chatter in the hallway, followed by the shutting of a door and wails of a child. I never liked my neighbor much. She once called the police at 7:00 a.m. because I was "walking around with shoes on". When the coppers came to my door and told me of her complaint, I was so taken aback all I could manage to say was "Are you going to arrest my shoes?" They disliked her and now I was making their lives difficult, but I would like to think in a cute, punchy way. I likened myself to a wise-crackin' 20-something sassy gal about town in an early '80's sitcom. Kind of like the white neighbor in Good Times. Sure, I may look like the privileged white girl in the 'hood, but my life was full of trials and tribulations. During a more somber episode, perhaps, insights into my troubled childhood, or an abusive relationship would be exposed, making the neighbors love and appreciate me that much more.

But I digress. My point was to say, there is a baby crying downstairs. Please shut up the baby. I am trying to weblog, people!