Dear God, I am eighty years old
Posted on: May 24, 2008
So, I yelled at some kids to get off my lawn. Like, for serious. “Hey, you! Get off my property,” for realsies.
There were a group of girls — sullen adolescent females — who gave me the blank look of “you can’t make me do anything,” but they eventually moved all of six feet down to the “communal” space and began chucking rocks at the house.
Yeah.
The Capt’n went out at that point and started taking snaps — a precaution we’ve taken since some delightful members of the next generation broke into the phone box for the neighborhood (also on our property) and knocked out DSL service for a week.
Of course those charming young ladies oozing with charm tattled on us, and a miscellaneous mother turned up on our doorstep a quarter after nine in the evening with two of the eight brats in tow. The story was explained in a rational manner, the brats fessed up to being on the property (while imploring us with their eyes to please cut them some slack, please, please, please, please, you don’t know what she’s like when she’s angry, even though I could probably guess), the mother forced an apology out of the two girls, and I gave them a batch of Lemon Ginger cookies to take home.
Yeah. Martha’s 0 for 2 in the cookie of the month bakeoff. You don’t think the Capt’n would let decent cookies out of the house, do you?
May 25, 2008 at 10:37 am
They threw -rocks- at your house?!
Where’s El Lobo when you need him?