As you know, I've got one of the loveliest roommates imaginable.
She's one of my best friends,
as well as a fellow blogger.
When she asked to write a little something for this here plot of blogland,
I couldn't help but answer,
"Is the pope Catholic?"
without further ado...
The way I see it, people love little stories that somehow seem to make their day a bit better. At least, I do. Stories are the glue for us. They’re what makes up our dinners, car rides, phone calls, and walks around the block.
I’m finding more and more that I love stories. I was reading in Ms. Anne Lamott’s book Bird by Bird this morning and she talked about this. If only I could pull off the whole California cool-girl vibe and rock dreads in my hair. If only…
So, I have a story. A story about our neighbors. You see, for whatever reason, Courtney and I live next to a little brick-house that can’t seem to keep tenants for more than four months. No lie. They move in, four months pass, and then there’s the day where I pull into the driveway, look to my left, and yep…FOR RENT…again.
Right now there’s a family living next door with a couple of sons and a yapping dog in the backyard. Let’s be honest, Marlo is the most sporadic barker around, but this dog next door... COME ON. I truly feel bad for the little guy because most of his days are spent connected to a leash while the kiddos play “monkey in the middle” in the street.
On this particular morning, I decided to eat breakfast outside because the day was too beautiful to start it off indoors. So I grabbed my book, some strawberries, an English muffin (complete with peanut butter and honey) and sat outside.
I was only into the introduction when I was distracted by a seemingly neutral interaction going on in the neighbor’s backyard. One of the little boys was trying to pet their dog. This pup was not having it. And the little boy was growing frustrated with each perfectly calculated step.
I wish I could say that Courtney and I are the friendliest neighbors on the block. We do our best to give the Texas wave and smile at the purple low-rider trucks that pass by, but we mostly keep to ourselves.
That being said, I hadn’t really talked to this little boy yet. I mustered up the courage to say hello. Usually it is pretty easy for me to chat it up with most anyone. This boy was NOT buying into my charm. My hello was countered with a forced, “Hi.” This response completely threw me off and I didn’t know quite how to recover. I noticed the little dog again and thought – “YES! I will ask him what his dog’s name is. Then I’ll be accepted.”
The rest of the conversation went a little like this:
Me - “So, what’s your dogs name?”
Boy - “Dirty.”
You're a peach.
(p.s. Seriously people. Don't forget to check out the giveaway. Only a couple of more days.)