Won't you be my neighbor?

This morning, I actually had to get up to an alarm - can you imagine? Yes, yes, I hear your collective hearts bleeding for me. But it was important, seeing as I had an appointment to visit the accountant at H&R Block for the final word on my unlubricated ass fucking tax debt. To be sure, the IRS will still be up to the elbow in my poop chute, but at least it's not up to the shoulder like it was when I figured it myself. When you're about to be anally raped by the government, all you can do is think in terms of inches, as in, how can I get fewer inches of spiky steel stiffy up my fear-frozen fart funnel?

Of course, all this combined with a trip to Meijer to fight the hordes of feisty retirees for gummable foods (I don't really need gummable food...I just like to be mean to the other shoppers) had me quite exhausted, so I stretched out on the bed (which, magically, becomes a couch when company arrives) and zonked out.

I'd been asleep for at least an hour when I was awoken by someone knocking on the front door. Normally, I sleep right through this, even though my bed is a foot from the door. I've missed several deliveries because I've slept right through a grown man's knock. But someone this afternoon was persistent, and who knows how long the knocking had actually been going on before I woke up and noticed it? This must be important. I hollered "Just a minute!" and hopped into my pants, still pretty out of it and in real danger of falling over with one unjeaned leg. My hair was, of course, pointed in at least four distinct directions, but this sounded too urgent to wait for grooming.

When I opened the door, there stood before me a very earnest little chap, probably 8 or 9 years old, wearing a blue bicycle helmet. I wondered if perhaps I was still dreaming, or if those flashbacks they always warned me about were finally happening. He looked up at me and seemed taken aback for a second, which is actually a natural response, given how I look when I'm freshly awakened. Although I figured him for a candy salesman - and there are a lot of those in the park - I didn't spy a box of chocolate bars anywhere.

He finally worked up the nerve to talk to me. "Hi, um, I'm new here. Well, actually, you're new here. My friend Robbie used to live here, and I noticed your car here, so I thought I'd come over and meet you."

Slightly amused, I told him my name was Katy and he introduced himself as Conor.

"Nice to meet you, Conor," I told him, thinking that would be the end of the conversation.

"Nice to meet you too. Do you wanna meet my mom?"

You will all be proud to know that I refrained from asking, "Is she hot?"

Actually, it didn't even occur to me. I thought, geez, is she outside with him? Is he thinking of taking me over there? Is he going to get her and bring her over? With my eggbeater hair and my ice-cream-for-breakfast breath, I told him I wasn't feeling too well and declined the offer. He then asked to pet Thirteen, told me where their house was, and departed.

I wonder if his mom even knew he was coming over here, or if he just took it upon himself to foster friendship with the new neighbor lady. Maybe he overheard her looking out the window, muttering, "That bitch in the sunglasses and leather is simply dreamy!" Or it could be that the neighbors are all wondering just what's up with the chick who dresses like a lumberjack and has all the cats in the windows, so they called over the cutest kid in the bunch, gave him five bucks and said, "Go find out if she's a lesbo!"

All in all, I have to think none of the parents in the park would let their kids come anywhere near my porch if they knew this was on the other side of the front door:



Musician's oath