I assumed that when you spent a solid week in the hot tub with your friends last month that you were all on spring break. I mean, you were there when we got home at 4:30pm, and you were still in the bath when we went to bed at 11:00pm. You obviously didn’t have jobs you needed to be at. If so, you wouldn’t have been feet from our yard, telling raucous stories about the whiskey and hashish you snuck into that concert at the Gorge last year while I attempt to get our dogs to do their business. By the way, in case you were wondering, you drive them to distraction, and all they can do while outside is bark at you, which means they end up making a mess in the house. Thanks for that.
Also driving them to distraction: the pit bull puppy that you allow to wander from your fenced-in yard and onto our porch. Three times. She’s obviously scared, and refuses to come close enough to take a treat from me, or else I probably would have kept her and let her hang out in our house instead of wandering the forest, which is full of bears and coyotes.
I assumed you were on spring break, but obviously I was wrong, because you were back last night, distracting my dogs and probably ruining any chances you previously had of reproducing. You can only spend so long in a hot tub, you know, before it starts to do permanent damage.
But maybe this isn’t such a bad thing.
Your Neighborhood Grumpy Old Lady