By Dick Wolfsie
All my neighbors are very nice, but the grumpy old man in me is slowly emerging. Lately, everything seems to get on my nerves. For example, this past week I asked the Foxworthys to take down their Christmas tree. I believe that yuletide decorations should be removed by Valentine’s Day. Apparently they feel otherwise. I was so annoyed when I got back to my house, I almost tripped over our pumpkin.
There’s Darrell, the bachelor. When we have a snowstorm, Darrell is the first to shovel. I never see him actually do it, but when I look out the window, his driveway and walk are completely clear. Not a trace of snow — like it was the first of July. My wife says, “Why can’t you be more like Darrell?” A man doesn’t want to hear this at any age. In the fall, Darrell puts 20 bags of leaves at his curb every trash pick-up day. His lawn is the same size as mine and I don’t have that many bags all season. I think he’s stealing other people’s leaves. I just can’t prove it.
The Monroes have two adorable little girls. The six year old is always asking me stuff.
“Why do you get mail?”
“Why does your dog have a tail?”
“Why did Mrs. Wolfsie marry you?”
As you can see, the Q and A gets tougher once she’s warmed up. If we move, I need to find a kid with easier questions.
The Osgoods live to our left. Larry is a professor, a real egghead. Last summer he decided to construct a fence around his yard. He had never done anything like this in his entire life. He had no plans, no instructions. He just got lots of wood and built it. It was a work of art. Do you see why this drives me crazy? Larry also has two kids but no basement in his house. Wouldn’t you assume that someone like that would have a garage full of junk? He doesn’t. Two cars, two bikes and a seed spreader. I’m suspicious. I think the CIA should know about this.
The Johnsons have a huge deck in their back yard, but they throw parties in the garage. Usually 20 or 25 friends show up for a fish fry and a plentiful assortment of beer. Everyone watches sports on a huge flat-screen TV. There’s more action in their garage on the weekends than in any room in my house. I asked my wife why we didn’t do the same thing. She said we don’t have 20 friends.
The Bentleys have the greatest lawn I have ever seen. Thick, green, no weeds, flawlessly edged and manicured. I asked Jerry how he got such perfect grass and he just shrugged. Wait a second: There’s no shrugging in lawn care. I know he’s hiding something. That’s one more thing for me to grumble about.
Finally there’s the family in the center of the cul-de-sac. They used to have a beagle that howled all night, but the dog was a TV star, so the neighbors let it slide. Their new beagle is unemployed and the barking is driving everyone nuts. The dog is always in their garbage cans, and then the trash ends up blowing across everyone’s front lawn. This thoughtless person also leaves his garage door open all the time and the inside is disgusting, piled high with boxes of old books — books he wrote but that no one will buy.
As grumpy as I’ve become, I’ve tried to be tolerant of this guy. Some people you just have to learn to live with.
