Introducing… Little old neighbor lady!
The doorbell rings this morning – I ignore it. It rings again. (Dixie is, of course, barking like crazy because INTRUDER ALERT! SOMEONE ON OUR FRONT PORCH! DANGER!) I run to door, frazzled as I was trying to finish up a few things before running errands.
Tiny little old neighbor lady. I tower over her (and I’m 5’3″).
She’s Polish, speaks little English, and is clutching a piece of folded paper and a permanent marker. From what I understand she needs friends. Well, actually that part I understood clearly. SHE NEEDS FRIENDS. Please will I give her my phone number and be her friend.
How do you say no to a tiny little old lady? You don’t, if you’re me. She has my phone number.
She told me where she lives and where her son lives, and her daughter lives in Las Vegas.
I suggested the weather was getting nice, she could go for walks in the park and meet people. I also gave her the name of my hair salon because many older ladies get their hair done there and she could meet friends.
I tried to explain where Little Old Neighbor Man II lives and that she should hang out over there and make friends with him. He’s Italian, not Polish, but she’ll have as much or better luck with him than me. Maybe they’ll fall madly in love and invite me to the wedding.
She said I’m very nice. No. Please. I am not nice. I am mean. I don’t want to make time to have little old neighbor friends, or little young neighbor friends, or any neighbor friends. I like my friends in the Internet.
The doorbell is ringing again, have to go.