I’m not exactly sure what kind of neighborhood my son thinks we live in. I blame myself, entirely. I really need to stop letting him watch Desperate Housewives and Law and Order reruns.
Today was the first decent day in months. Not so cold my nips froze off. Not so windy I was picked up and dropped in Oz. Not raining or snowing or hailing or all three at the same time. It was chilly, decent, and sunny. I bundled the boy up and threw him on his bike. Time to release A LOT of that sugar buzz he’s been bouncing around the house on since November!
We live in a pretty standard neighborhood. Cookie cutter houses all lined in a row. You’ve got your old folks with the perfect yards, the young folks with the cute babies, the middle-agers who let their heathen children walk through my yard after school is let out. Some moms stay home and cart their children around in multiple strollers. Some moms work (which allows their slutty teenage daughters to make-out with their 23-year-old boyfriends on my giant rock.) There’s the neighborhood gossip and the neighborhood talker. There’s a house you never see anyone coming in or out of, and there’s a house you don’t trick-or-treat at…not because it’s haunted, but because the man living there is obviously a pervert! Despite that little fact, it’s a great neighborhood and the people are basically friendly.
So…I guess that’s why I don’t know where my son was coming from when he warned me about the stranger we encountered on our biking trip. The man was checking the oil in his car, minding his own business as we approached. My son loudly whispered to me, “Mom, let’s be sure to say ‘hi’ to this stranger okay? We don’t want him to think we’re rude.”
“Okay Tommy. That’s very neighborly of you.”
“Yeah, well…”, he begins, “I’m pretty sure if this guy thinks we’re rude, he’ll probably try to beat us up. I think he’s a ninja and will beat us up with his ninja knives and his ninja sword.”
My only response…which is my usual response when Tommy tells his tales is, “um…okay.”
Right as we’re passing, Tommy says, “Ready Mom? Are you ready? Get ready. Here we go.” and then yells at the man, “Hello Stranger! We’re just out for a little bike ride. And we’re not rude! Okay then, you have a great day.”
The ninja-in-civilian-clothing chuckles and says hello to me, and of course I say hello back cause God forbid he think I’m rude!
So like I said, we just live in a normal little neighborhood with Mom’s and Dad’s and Grandparents and Ninjas. Though Tommy has got me thinking. Perhaps those slack-jawed hillbillies who live behind us aren’t just lazy trashy in-breeders, but misunderstood aliens from another planet? Maybe they don’t understand that it’s not polite to leave your old cars and toilets in one side of your lawn while collecting dog poo on the other side?
Or maybe they’re just assholes. We may never know.