Over the years, I’ve learned a few things about apartment living. First, the day you wear your last pair of clean underwear is the day everyone else in the building wears theirs. Second, for every three tenants, there will be one whose idea of a culinary delight is cooking goat hair at 7 AM…and last, but certainly not least, you will always have one neighbor who forces you to fantasize about random acts of violence.
Guess whose dog is back?
For the life of me, I can’t understand the rationale behind making a yippy little furball pee itself in yippy little furball barking ecstasy at 4:30 AM. Am I alone in this?
So…after a night of studying back issues of Cooks Illustrated in order to find the best possible recipe for tenderizing Shi Tzu (relax, I’m just kidding–I’m the one who spends money to go on vacation to LOOK at animals, remember?) I decided to become THAT NEIGHBOR.
I did it. I took the plunge. I wrote the letter that officially put me in the running to become the mean old lady on the first floor who complains about everything (forget the fact that I’m the only lady on the first floor). What’s worse?..I enjoyed every minute of it! Even the part where I forgot all my southern social graces–(who am I kidding? especially that part!) and said they obviously need to put down the bag of Tostitos because normal people don’t shake chandeliers when they walk.
Being mean never felt so good!