Raymond Baron (Everybody Loves Raymond) is an idiot.
So are Doug (King of Queens), Leonard (Big Bang Theory, although not literally, since he’s a science genius) and George (Seinfeld).
My husband, however, is not; thus my recently frantic scrambles for column material. But I suppose I should be grateful for this, as there are many wives out there who could write six columns a day on the hilarious, moronic and/or destructive antics of their misters.
The husband and I seem to be a perfectly normal college-aged married couple, which is reassuring in many ways but doesn’t always provide for the most entertaining blog posts. Our neighbors, on the other hand, seem to have a variety of issues that would make perfectly interesting column material; so this week’s entry is about them. We’ll call them “the F2 Family.”
There are so many people that come and go from that apartment on a regular basis that the mister and I really aren’t sure who are the residents and who are the visitors. What we do know is that the adults (at least 2, potentially 6) all spend their days sitting in the central stairwell smoking and playing on their iPads while the children (at least 3, potentially 15) live free-range lives at top volume.
The F2 Family seems to consist of early risers, as the adults can often be heard hacking up a lung as early at 6:30 a.m. At least one of the adults, however, is a night owl and enjoys screaming obscenities at the rampaging children as they thunder past our bedroom windows long past 10:30 p.m.
The adults—at least the ones we think live there full-time—seem like perfectly nice people when they’ve spoken to the mister and I. They ask how our day has been, comment on the weather and the building maintenance and seem sincere when they tell us to let them know if the children become a nuisance.
This is the most annoying part of it all though, since it’s hard to want to report them for noise violations at 11 p.m. when they’ve been friendly that morning. It also confuses me, since I don’t understand how a person can truly want to keep the children from bothering the neighbors and then spend the afternoon screaming at the hooligans, littering the stairway area with cigarette butts and slamming the front door every 5 minutes. It’s nice to want to be considerate, but maybe you should lump more actions into that category?
Perhaps I am too harsh with them. It’s true that I don’t have any idea what sort of situation this family may be in or what background they may come from. They may be keeping all those children as foster parents and helping them go to school and have normal lives while their own parents sober up. Evidence seems to point to the contrary, but it could always be possible.
Perhaps, and this is a more likely theory, the F2 Family was put across the stairs from us to teach the mister and I to not be quick to judge others for their unusual situations (and to tune out those inevitable apartment noises). One day our children may be the terror of the neighborhood.
If that day ever comes I will not hesitate to beat the snot out of the little curtain climbers, but it could come.
Moral of the story: “Judge not, that ye not be judged.” Or, perhaps more aptly phrased: “Judge not, that ye not be cursed with hooligans of your own.”