To the left, however, we have three older ladies that live in the three townhouses next to ours. Two of them are widowed, and the other has a husband (but I'm not sure his elevator goes all the way to the top anymore.... I know it is horrible to say but I'm trying to paint the picture of the road to the left). Before Leah and I signed our lease, we met each of these ladies, and should have had a pretty good idea what we were getting into. As soon as we pulled up to look at the apartment, they were outside on the street trying to find out who we were, what we were doing, etc. They gave us the "no party" riot act, told us all about the residence's previous tenants, told us they would be "watching" us, but nevertheless, how excited they were to have "two adorable young ladies" as their neighbors. Bottom line, they are hysterical, the typical older ladies you see on funny cards and napkins, and we immediately knew that living near them would never have a dull moment.
Well, we have not been disappointed.
Two weeks ago, I came home from work around 6 and noticed that my neighbor's car was still on, though it was parked in her off street parking lot several yards from her house.... I shrugged, thinking it kind of weird, but thought maybe she had forgotten something and run back inside. 30 minutes later, I checked back outside to make sure either she is gone or that she turned the car off. NOPE. Trying to keep in her good graces, I go knock on the door, explain to my confused neighbor, that "okay crazy lady, your keys are in the ignition, your car is on, and it is unlocked..." Turns out, she had obviously not meant to leave it on. (?) We had a good laugh, and she thanked me profusely for saving her battery.
Well, Sunday night Lash came over for supper and went to leave around 8. When I walked him to the door, I realize that the same crazy lady's display lamp in her car is on, AND the passenger window is rolled down. I thought about crawling and trying to turn off the light myself, but then visions on a car alarm and my body half- way hanging out of the window made me think otherwise. I have to bang on her door, again, late on a Sunday night. This time, she is already in her nightgown, looking like she's about to go to bed any second. I felt so bad for disturbing her, and told her, "Please don't think I'm crazy, but your car . . . . ." and continued to tell her the story. And she responses, "Crazy? Your crazy? Hell honey, you know I'm the crazy one"
And all I could do was politely smile and laugh, because yes, ma'am, I'm beginning to think so.