As I lay in bed last night, trying to go to sleep, I had the urge to scream profanities out my bedroom window.
Our little neighbourhood has always been pretty quiet. That is, until last fall when some hooligans moved in. Young 'uns. Young adults exuding testosterone. Youth with a propensity towards alcohol. And fun. And being loud. And swearing in inebriated jest. Then swearing at the people yelling at them to keep it down because there are children trying to sleep. And then cursing at the dogs that are barking non stop at their loud swearing.
It's a vicious cycle.
A vicious cycle that nearly culminated in me losing it and calling the cops.
Yes. You read that right. I'm officially old.
I almost picked up the phone and dialed the non emergency line for our local police. I might have gone through with it, too, if it hadn't meant I'd have to get out of bed and look up the non emergency number.
But I'm old. And I was tired. So I lay in bed listening to the call of the wild mixed with cheap beer and reminisced about how I never behaved like that in my youth.
At a wedding once, but never in my youth.
And so now I'm plotting my revenge. Lawn mowing at 6am? Organizing a little girls screaming contest to be held every Sunday morning? Rent a spot light and bullhorn and give a play by play of what girl dissed which guy's moves? Or perhaps I could rig up some speakers and play Celine Dion out their way once the partying gets past my comfort zone. Or Raffi. Nothing says "The party's over!" like a middle aged man singing Baby Beluga.
*Please note the selection of Canadian artists. I'm all about Canadian content on my blog.
Sadly, I know I won't do anything. Come on, if I'm too lazy to get out of bed and dial a phone number, I can't imagine expending the energy needed to find my Celine Dion CD.
I mean...if I had one. Which I don't.
But it's fun to seek revenge, if only in my head.
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