The screamers are out tonight.
There are two little girls next door–probably around five or six, maybe seven years old–and they are just total screechers–they scream bloody murder for everything. When they’re happy, sad, angry, bored, it’s a no brainer: scream. Of course. It has an elegant logic to it.
Now, I don’t want to sound like the Grinch of Upham’s Corner, or whatever, but they’ve got this little kiddie pool out there, like, right under my window. And it’s too hot and muggy to shut my window, and I don’t have AC, and don’t want it, but it would certainly drown out the blood-curdling screams. I don’t mind quiet children, or even children who laugh occasionally, although I think in most cases a simple smile would suffice. But what is with the screaming?
And whatever happened to the days when kids were marched off to bed at nine o’clock? These kids were out screaming bloody murder until nearly eleven last night.
You know, all it would take to start an all-out war is for me to set my boombox in the window right now and start blasting, I dunno, GWAR, or something, at top volume. Of course then I would have to leave the house, come back in a couple hours. See how they like hearing somebody else scream for a while.