After threatening for days via dark skies and hyperactive meteorologists, rain has finally arrived, bringing some cooler temperatures. Windows are open where covered and protected from the showers, and it’s a wonderful and welcome change from the summer tradition of The Running of the Air Conditioners.
Someone nearby has been running their car, blasting their woofers and tweeters for well over an hour. My house and nerves are shaking from the constant “thump thump” rumbling. When I was able to drive I blasted my music like the teenager I once was but never parked in a residential neighborhood for over 60 minutes, volume cranked to maximum power.
I have thought about going out on my porch and glaring at the offender, but the fact is I couldn’t see the vehicle no matter how much it was vibrating, and I wouldn’t want to unknowingly give sweet Mr. Johnson the stink eye while he has a cigarette-induced coughing fit. Seriously, Mr. J, give ’em up already!
The even bigger reason preventing me from marching out front? Fear of being branded as the block’s resident curmudgeon. All that’s missing are rollers in my hair, an ancient bathrobe, a hairnet or curlers and gnarled pointed fingers. I do admit to the cup of coffee in my hand and slippers on my feet.
All hope is not lost for me though. As I distracted myself from the rocking and rolling, tidying up the house and getting laundry started, I began to sing the Meghan Trainor song used in the title of this post. I may be only a few years from a replacement, but I’m still hip.
