Don't bother watching your language

Early Saturday morning, we were awakened by shouting coming from outside. I held my breath as the man's angry voice got louder and louder. Eventually it faded again, and Sam said in the dark "What the hell was that?"

"I don't know. It's happened more than once. The first couple of times I thought he was on the phone or something." I looked at the clock. 5:07am.

"Weird." Sam said as he rolled over and pulled the covers up to his ear.

The next evening I was making dinner when I once again heard the angry, low voice outside, getting louder and louder. Boston licked my calf and whimpered.

I went to the window and peeked around the curtain, the phone in my hand.

And that is when I realized what was going on. There was a guy, walking up the street, cursing loudly to himself. He wasn't on the phone. As he approached our house he got louder. As he passed us and moved down the street, the shouting faded.

Great. Just GREAT. As if this neighborhood wasn't wacky ENOUGH, our new neighbor has Tourettes, or something to that effect. He wanders the neighborhood spluttering and cursing at all hours. He sounds very angry, but just walks steadily, avoiding eye contact. He is dressed in clean clothes as he makes his route up to the end of the street and back. He fits right in with the guy who backs up his work truck at 5am with the reverse alarm blaring, and the guys who come back from hunting trips at least once a week and butcher gigantic boars and goats in their driveway, and the guy we just refer to as "That asshole with the powerwasher" and don't even get me started on the dirtbikes....... Anyway, it's just par for the course, and instead of being annoyed, I find myself relived that I don't have to call and report a domestic assault. At least, not yet.

I went into the bedroom to tell Sam what I have just seen.

"FUCK ME." Sam roared from the bed. He is a really soft-spoken man, most of the time. The curtains swung in the breeze and I shushed him. "The neighbors can hear you!"

"I've got it. Right there. Hang on. HANG ON HERE HE COMES."

"Take it easy. Don't hurt me with that thing."

"I'm going for it!" Sam says forcefully


"Give it to me baby. BABY GIVE IT TO ME!"

"HARDER! NOW! HARDER GET IT  GETIT GETTTTTTTITTTTTTTT!"

**CRASH**


Just a typical Tuesday night at our house. There's another fly in the bedroom. Sam is standing in the middle of our bed brandishing a dish towel in each hand. I find myself standing in the doorway as "the lookout", until I finally tire of being dive bombed by the little shiteater and grab one of the towels from Sam and beat the crap out of my bedside table.

The room suddenly goes dark. And then the blind rattles and I am reminded that the window is open for our entire neighborhood to hear.

"Oh shit. Imagine what that sounds like outside. They are going to report us as unfit parents."

"They won't be able to hear us over that other guy."

He rights the lamp I just broke, wanders out into the hallway and digs through the linen closet, coming back with a new bulb.

"Good shot, honey." he says sweetly. "I married a KEEPER."

A zookeeper, apparently.