I recently purchased my first home. I stress the word “my” for good reason. I’ve worked hard for twenty-something odd years to save up for this moment, and I (had) intended to savor every minute of it. You know, traditional homeowner stuff-cleaning, decorating, meeting the neighbors…
At this point, I should probably introduce the fact that I
have a boyfriend who lives with me. Yes,
he pays rent, but no, his name is not on the mortgage. However, try telling that to my
neighbors. My very female neighbors.
For whatever reason, my boyfriend has what I like to call a
“female magnet”. No matter where we go,
women of all age find it necessary to talk to him. I have no idea why I thought him moving into my
house would be any different.
Within a week of us first moving in, our next door neighbor
came over and introduced herself. She
made sure to mention that she lives alone.
She appears to be in her late 60s.
A few days after that, our neighbor directly across the street “just
happened to be baking cookies” and came over to say hello. She made sure to stress the fact that her
husband is almost always out of town.
Oh, and I failed to mention that another of our neighbors mows her grass
at least twice a week. In her
bikini. Seriously?!
If you’re wondering, no, I have not yet met my
neighbors. It seems that they prefer the
male renter in my household…
Until next time,
Freeway Fairington
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