Married Life, the Mayor, and the Morning Mail

Today I am much calmer and more rational, thanks to the return of the Big Damn Hero. I was so wound up while he was away, which was a combination of exhaustion, hormones, and my overactive imagination. But my balance has been restored, and for this I am grateful. It is nice to have him home to talk to about things again. It has been a rough two years for us, and he’s been a great source of comfort and support for me through everything. I rely on his opinion and his counsel, so when he’s not here, things spin around and around in my brain, and I worry problems to distraction. He’s pragmatic. If there’s a potential problem, we’ll deal with it. He’s optimistic. He always sees the brighter side of whatever is going on, and especially through the rough times this past two years, he sees what good can come of situations and tries to turn minuses into pluses. I never knew married life with BDH was going to be so good for me. If I had, I certainly would have agreed to marry him a lot earlier in our relationship. He’s been good for me. We’re not perfect, but we’re doing fine.

And so this morning, I woke up after getting a good night’s rest, and felt much more optimistic about my week. I had my coffee and stood at the window, watching to see when the mail person came and delivered the mail. And then I noticed the neighbour across the street.

Now, this neighbour is a piece of work. We have taken to calling him The Mayor. He’s NOT the mayor, obviously, but this does not stop him from adopting an authoritative tone and making pronouncements to all and sundry in our little community. He fancies himself to be the leading authority on… well, EVERYTHING. And he will tell you about it, given half the chance. We call him The Mayor, but really he’s a lot more like Mrs. Kravitz from Bewitched. He’s always got to have his nose in everything. He thinks nothing of walking into your yard to have a look around. He pokes his nose into your business because he seems to feel it is his RIGHT to know. He will come and give unwanted advice on any and all home improvement projects, because he and his wife seem to feel they must keep up with, if not surpass, the Joneses at every turn.

Case in point: this summer, he asked BDH if he needed any limestone screenings for a patio that he had heard we were putting in. BDH, to be neighbourly, said yes. Well, The Mayor of course made a big production of this, his wife asking in full voice across the yards if we still wanted them, and The Mayor himself coming over and verifying that we still wanted them, and on and on. When he finally DID bring them by, his “screenings” amounted to a few shovelfuls of rubble and dirt and crap from his yard. So what he REALLY wanted was to be nosy and see what we were doing in our backyard, and this was his way of gaining access. And then, he proceeded to tell me he knew how to do this, that and the other with regard to putting in patios, and he would be happy to tell us how to do it. I told him we had it under control, thanks, and closed the door.

So, back to this morning, when I noticed The Mayor “cleaning” his garage. (I believe this is a ploy he uses to attract attention so that someone will notice him and talk to him. But whatever.) The Mayor, I believe, is a study in classic mid-life male crisis. He bought a Mini Cooper last year, which is of course wholly impractical in a Canadian winter, especially when one lives on a rarely-plowed street on a hill. Watching him get in and out of it resembles someone trying to pack a bull into a soup can. But buy one he did, bright yellow, complete with cheesy vanity plates. And so, I look over this morning, and see that he has also bought one of those motorized scooters, bright red, and has it parked at a jaunty angle in his driveway. Again, I’m betting he’s hoping someone will notice and come comment. I think he fancies himself all “young” and “hep”, unlike of the words that leap to MY mind, “obnoxious” and “cliche” and “starved for attention”.

So this prompted me to get my gear on and walk up to check the mailbox, studiously avoiding contact with him. I love that it would make him nuts.

I’ve been eagerly expecting a package from my dear friend Kelly, a “party in a box”, for about a week now. I am excited to see the myriad doo-dads and whatnots and other assorted goodies that have been lovingly packaged by Kelly and The Dictator. The Dictator’s input has me VERY intrigued. I’ve heard she had grown quite sentimentally attached to this box of goodies, and was very sad to see it go with the post a week and a half ago. Also, she may or may not have contributed things of her very own to this box — random shoes, dirty diapers, crayons… It’s hard to say. But I am VERY excited to find out. So I walked up to get the mail.

DENIED! Rats. Well, that just means another day of neighbour watching, then. I suppose, however, that this negates my whole “rational” argument at the start of this post.

10 thoughts on “Married Life, the Mayor, and the Morning Mail

  1. DENIED! I think some customs agent is enjoying the bounty. He’s more like a customs pirate. Yeah. Something like that.

  2. He’ll be sorry if the dictator left a ‘special prize’ in the box. That’s all I’m saying.

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