I had never thought I would hear those words come from my own lips. To gasp and place my hand over my chest, mouth turned down, eyes wide and say “Me? Smug?” Never had I ever thought I would be one to be considered… smug.
But, apparently I am. I’m the exhausted neighbor in heels, tapping her foot in annoyance at the sound of yappy yap yap in the hallway. Periodically peeking out the blinds to see some man in a hippie hair-do helping the third floor girl move bulky furniture up the stair case. Watching them, I noticed that the man looked strikingly familiar to me … my mind was flipping through names like a Rolodex. Flip flip flip… “oh yes, he’s that waiter in that Retro Sushi place down town!” Are they both servers? Hmm? Explains the late night entrances. Interesting.
Six years ago I would of probably befriended them, hanging out late nights, living as night dwellers do. But … today I’m tired. Today, I come home from work only to want to rub my feet that fit into those oooohhh so cute heels that hurt my feet ooooh so much. I like a little solitude after the work day is over, but don’t think I’m a recluse. Occasionally my second floor friends will come down for a glass of wine on the porch, then bid “good night” and retreat for bed. Ahhhh so, nice… we live in perfect harmony. “Our house, a very very very fine house. With the two cats in the yard …”.
I believe I have become quite smug to change. As I become extremely irritated when I hear a unfamiliar noise that interferes with our house harmony. Tsk Tsk Tsk. I know I should be open to the fact of a new third floor person, new feet, new schedules, new sounds. But … come on now … must we really drive nails into walls at 10:30 pm? Don’t you know that my second floor friends wake up at 5:45 am? Don’t you know I’m in bed by 10 pm, reading a book? Don’t you know it is a week day?
Gasp! Like a smug.
Yes, smug.
I hate the thought of being … smug.
Speaking!