One of these things is not like the others

I know it's Monday and you probably ate too much on Father's Day and you're tired and, like I said, it's Monday.

But in the interest of endeavoring to sharpen what may be less-than-nimble minds, I invite you to take a wee quiz.

It's four questions and they are all the same.

Here we go.

Which of these things is not like the others?

A. Prickly Pears
B. Warm Fuzzies
C. Jenny
D. Curmudgeons

If you chose "B. Warm Fuzzies," YAY for you!

Because that is correct!

I don't know if you're aware of this but I am a decidedly grumpy sort of person. You can ask anyone.

For example:

I don't do smarm. At all, ever;

I never spin it cuddly;

I decline to distribute synthetic sympathy; and

I'm not all that sociable.

I know, right? News flash.

At the same time I am very friendly.

Please do figure that out and when you have, let me know what you came up with.

Now, if you want Mister Nice Guy eight days a week, you are looking for my TG.

(Opposites attract after all. I like his sweetness and he likes my tartness. Mingled, we are potable.)

At any rate you need to know all of the above in order to fully appreciate what comes next. Meantime you're totally on a roll so let's proceed to the next question.

This one has to do with the neighborhood where I live:

Which of these things is not like the others?

A. New Next-Door Neighbors
B. Former Next-Door Neighbors
C. Interesting People
D. Respectful People

If you picked "A. New Next-Door Neighbors," you are absolutely correct. You get a gold star!

As an added bonus you will not be invited to my house.

Allow me to elaborate.

Our former next-door neighbors, Suzanne and Jim, moved away a few months ago. They are getting up in years and wanted to live closer to their children and grandchilden. They still live in South Carolina, only farther north.

Right around the time they put their house on the market, Jim saw TG and me out in the yard one day and told us of his and Suzanne's plans.

We were sorry to hear it because they'd been the best neighbors anyone could ever imagine asking for, if one were to ask for neighbors, which I would not do.

Not long afterwards, one day when I was getting ready to go out, our doorbell rang.

I don't like to hear that. I'm rarely expecting anyone. In fact I would NEVER put out a welcome mat.

Or if I did it would look like this one:

So anyway, I opened up the door and who was standing there but a portly gentleman who introduced himself as Mr. Botherton.*

He said he and his wife were "looking to buy" the house next door, so "we're neighbors."

"We are?" I inquired acidly.

"Well, we're going to be," he assured me.

"So you've bought the house next door?" I asked.

"No but if we do, we'll be neighbors," he insisted.

?????

I just looked at him. Then he had a question for me:

Leaning in, quasi-conspiratorially: "Why are they selling, anyway?"

That did it. I dropped the moonlight-and-magnolias act.

"Sir, I do not know," I said (although I did know). "Why don't you ask them?"

He looked crestfallen. "I can't ask them," he said. "I don't know them."

Too bad! I told him I had to go and he left.

(When we moved in, Jim and Suzanne appeared on our doorstep with a luscious pineapple. They introduced themselves politely and asked a grand total of zero nosy questions. Whole thing took five minutes.)

Like I said, they were wonderful neighbors. Unlike me.

The Bothertons will have to buy their own pineapple.

Well anyway, a couple of months elapsed and next thing we knew, one day the Bothertons were showing signs of preparing to move in next door.

I don't spend much time in the front yard so I have been spared encounters with Mr. and Mrs. B.

TG is not so lucky. Mr. Botherton engages him almost daily as they are puttering in our respective yards. Sometimes TG has to stand still and listen for, like, twenty minutes.

He doesn't do that even for me.

Mr. B talks TG's ear off about everything from a rare baseball print he's lucky enough to own, to the renovations they made to the house before moving in, to which pool company they've chosen, to lamenting the fact that they didn't properly label their packed boxes, to whether their dogs are aggravating us (no, but their owners are, I would have said).

So anyway, the other day my one-eared TG had been in and out of the house, working around the place don't you know, and he'd left the garage door open.

Now, you might as well be aware, when our garage door is open that is NOT a tacit invitation for you to barge in and walk up the steps to our (windowed) kitchen door, peer in, and ring the doorbell.

If you have permission to enter my house that way, you don't have to knock or ring. Just come in. Your last name had better be Weber or a select few other names, though.

So imagine my potential chagrin when on the day in question (which turned out to be the Bothertons' Official Moving Day), while all the way across our kitchen from said garage-access door and down several steps into our very private family room, comfortably situated in my recliner and writing on my laptop, I heard the doorbell.

I set my work aside, struggled out of my chair, and climbed the steps. That's when I saw her.

Mrs. Botherton (whom I've never met and to whom I have not been introduced, even slightly) had plastered her face to the window of the door leading into my kitchen.

I hustled across my half-acre of kitchen floor and opened the door.

This is exactly what happened.

Training her eyes somewhere to the left of my midsection, speaking into thin air, without even the barest of preambles she blurted:

"Can I have a paring knife I can't find my knives." Then she gasped for breath, bent over and let out a loud, mirthless laugh, which she directed at the space beside my feet.

I should tell you at this juncture, not for nothing but Mrs. B's physical proportions make me look svelte by comparison. Draw your own conclusions but I will say, there is a lot of elastic involved. So I think she was winded by the walk from next door.

"Oh, sure," I said with all the enthusiasm I could muster, which I can assure you would have fit into the left nostril of a pygmy flea, with room left over for an anvil.

I walked over to my cabinets, pulled open a drawer, and selected a black-handled paring knife I didn't care if I ever saw again.

Mrs. B grabbed it and left. I closed the garage door.

This isn't a campground, y'all. Remember that.

Oh and other really useful information: Your super-nice-guy neighbor has a major grouch for a wife.

Certain other changes have occurred in our neighborhood in recent days.

Keep that in mind that as you answer this next question.

Which of these things is not like the others?

A. Bureaucrats
B. Democrats
C. Postal Workers
D. Our New Mailman

Did you pick "D. Our New Mailman"? YESSSS! You are a dazzlingly intelligent and intuitive human being.

You would not believe this but after years of mailmen (and women) so dour they make me look like the love child of Pollyanna and Peregrin Took, we have a really cool, really nice, totally awesome mailman!

The other day I was standing just inside our open garage door (sort of back in the shadows but not really), conversing with my TG who was doing something or other out in the yard, when the mail truck pulled up to our mailbox.

TG walked that way to get the mail and I just stood where I was.

Then, you wouldn't believe! The mailman -- whom I'd never seen before in my life -- waved real big in my direction and shouted: "What are you giving me for Christmas?"

?????

I mean, dude, it's June.

But like I said, I adore friendly folk -- because I is one -- so I shouted back: "I'll make you some banana nut bread if you'll tell him to fix my oven!"

(Yes my oven is still broken. Do not ask.)

The mailman laughed very easily and said to TG's retreating back: "Fix her oven!"

Then we all waved cheerily and our new mailman went on his way.

TG and I marveled at this freak of nature: A happy, normal, conversant government worker!

That's not something you see hanging around on every street corner.

As it turns out, there is a very logical explanation! And it's not Zoloft.

Our mailman is a die-hard conservative.

Which I know because last Saturday TG was in the yard again when the mail truck again approached, driven by the same guy, and what was blaring out the open door, from the radio?

Rush Limbaugh.

That guy's getting two loaves of banana nut bread for Christmas if I have to ask Mrs. Botherton for the use of her oven.

And yes, I will go to the front door to plead my case, even if the garage is permanently agape, calling seductively to every spelunker in Christendom.

Meanwhile TG nearly made the new mailman late for his appointed rounds, so thrilled was he to find a kindred spirit. This could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

One more!

Which of these things is not like the others?

A. Max
B. Javier
C. Rambo
D. Sophie

I know you can't answer that unless I help you out and since you're teacher's pet, I am pleased to do that.

But if you lucky-guessed it and chose "A. Max," you are batting a thousand.

There are four pictures of him sprinkled throughout this post.

Max is a guide dog whose owner attends our church. As such, Max goes to our church too. I love Max. I look for Max after every service so I can pet him.

He used to wear a sign on his harness that said "Please ignore me, I'm working."

I would make his owner laugh by saying, "How can I ignore you when you're so cute?"

Wag wag wag, Max's tail would agree. He doesn't wear that sign anymore.

Last night I took my camera with me to church just so I could snap a few pictures of Max.

I love Max. Wait; I already said that.

Of course you know Javier is my own beloved pet Chihuahua and no dog could ever supplant him in my heart. But Javier is not exactly useful unless you count sleeping.

Rambo is Andrew's dog and he is beyond special, and he does work hard as Camp Dog, but that's different from the office Max fills.

Sophie is a Yorkie that Erica baby-sat a few weeks ago when her owners went on vacation. I have never met Sophie but from the picture of her (supplied by Erica), I can tell I'd like her a lot.

But according to Erica, Sophie's spoiled and demanding. She's no working dog.

Max is not spoiled. Max is not lazy. Max does not have the run of Mount Moriah Christian Camp and Conference Center to do as he pleases.

Max is Max and he has a real job. He is neither ornery like me nor obnoxious like our new neighbors. He's well-adjusted, hard-working, and extra nice, just like our new mailman. I'm pretty sure he's a conservative.

Politics aside, he is simply grand and I wanted you to meet him.

That is all.

Happy Monday! Happy Week!

*Name changed to protect the guilty.

Comments

[irene]

OMG you'd hate living next door to me, My husband is that annoying neighbor, the only saving grace is that he doesn't go outside much. Love Max too. Happy Monday to you too.

[Mari]

:)
First of all - you are most definitely not a curmudgeon! Just because you don't suffer fools gladly, doesn't make you a prickly pear either!
Second - I got all the answers right - except the first and last ones. I get a gold star, but I'd really like an invite too!
I had neighbors like that when we were first married. I couldn't step out the door without one of them talking to me. I told Bob they must be spying through the windows, because they caught me every time. At least they didn't come to the door and peer inside. At least you have a good mailman. :)
PS - I was laughing out loud while reading this. Bob and Heather are in the room with me and were wondering what was going on. All I had to say was "I'm reading Jenny the Pirates post" and they understood. Yes - we do call you Jenny the Pirate over here!

[Sue the Hobbit]

Snarky Pirate is the best.
The End.

[Anna]

We are most definitely kindred spirits! If there was ever a doubt of that it was silenced by this post!

[glenda]

Well, I love *snarky pirate girls*, and I love Max too. C'est La Vie, about the nosy, bothersome neighbors. Just keep the garage door down and put out the Un-Welcome mat!....G.

[Donna M.]

Miz Jenny, I adore YOU! Max, I adore you too! And this was an absolutely delightful post! I am a bit disappointed in some of our neighbors, but at least no one tries to go right into my garage. Except for the neighbor's dog who is never on a leash. Sigh. And we have a positively delightful mail lady! She loves to chat with us and tells us all the dirt about the neighbors too. heehee!

[Donna (Texas)]

Hahahaaa....I love your post.....Did you ever get the knife back?
Oh, and I Almost batted a thousand...but you tripped me up on the last one! GirlChild!Hahaaaa
hughugs

[Skunkfeathers]

I AM a curmudgeon -- turned the official age to be able to claim it earlier this year -- and by gawd, I earned it ;-)

I am also the perfect neighbor: no one ever sees me ;-)