You’re just going to have to take my word for this. I wouldn’t make this shit up.

We have a.. how do we say this? ... “tight” community. Or “compact” if you’re a car salesman. Or “bumfucking close” if you’re us.

Whatever, people are everywhere always up in other people’s grills here.

Last night our neighbors had a tiny party.  (Nice people, really, smoking Christians with a cute little white fully dog that always wave high and say “how are you” before jumping in their car and doing what people without kids do: LEAVE HOME.) It so happens that this particular two weeks has been warm enough to open our windows which is helpful for hearing every conversation from a three mile stretch. You’d be amazed at what you hear. (As a side, there is always this ONE LADY yelling at her kids to GO TO FUCKING BED ALREADY, IT IS SIX O’CLOCK. What kind of mother does that? Gawd.)

Anyway, the party had moved outside and took to smoking their cigs while I leaned in to the netting on the window and enhailed, deeply, listening to their converstaion. It went something like this:

One: So, you like it here?
Two: Meh, it’s ‘aight.
One: Yea, you have a pool, that’s nice.
Two: Meh, it’s always families and fat people. LIke WHERE ARE THE CHICKS.
One: Oh, that’s too bad. ...
Pause
I fly by the window to go get my phone
One: You can really see in to everyone’s homes, hu.
Two: Yea and it’s not pretty when it’s hot out. Those people (I assume gesturing toward our house), the chick always goes by in her underwear.
One:Dude, gross. Really? Is she hot?
Two: No.
One: Dude, Brutal.
Pause.
I fly by in my PJ’s which, whatever, MAYBE shot my “bags” of hooters flopping around a bit.
(Another side: My son, my two year old BRILLIANT child who knows all letters, sounds, etc? Called my boobs eggs. “EGGS! EGGS!” I corrected him: TITTIES!)
When I return to listen and snap a photo, for posterity, they had stepped inside.

image

But give it time, buddy. Give it time. In three years when your wife has birthed two children from a 6 inch slit in her abdomen cutting every hope of ab muscles for the rest of her life, you’ll be thankful she wears anything at all.

Trust me.

Trust me.

P.S. YES, that’s a dead fly on the window. Classy, hu?

Coming Up