I'm Officially A Crotchety Old Neighbor

The houses are about 20' apart in our neighborhood of cape cod houses built in the early 1950s. I sit at the computer all day looking out the den's window at the side of my neighbor's garage.

Along that side of our house, I have planted hundreds if not thousands of hyacinth and daffodil bulbs. All of which have broken the surface and are currently about 1" tall. I went out on Saturday and scratched up the dirt so they'd have an easier time bursting through and the spring rain will have an easier time seeping down.

I spend a lot of time in this flower bed during the spring and summer doing the weeding, planting new perennials, trimming the shrubs, staking up the peonies, etc.

============

The neighbors have a teenage boy who hangs out with another boy who lives two doors down from me in the other direction. They were on the driveway kicking a soccer ball and using the frame of the garage door as their goal. Kick, kick, bang. Kick, kick, bang. It's one of those things we put up with as part of being a neighbor.

Then the ball rolled over into my garden. No big deal, except when you tromp through without any regard in order to retrieve it. It happens once, I'm perturbed. It happens twice, and I'm getting angry. The third time? Snap!

I fling up the inside window, fling up outside storm window, and thrust my head out the window.

Looking the neighbor boy in the eyes I yell, "If you stomp on my flowers I'm going to stomp on your head."

Yes, you readers know that mild mannered Y|O|Y can get downright mean when fouled in just the right way. I'm a smiling volcano ready to blow at any moment.

I didn't get an apology, rather a statement that the noise was coming from their side. "Ummmm, excuse me, but I'm sitting right here looking out the window and I saw you!"

With that, I slammed down the storm window. I'm surprised it didn't shatter.

And that's the story of me becoming a crotchety old neighbor.