Thursday, May 16, 2013

"Scritch, Scritch, Scritch"

NOTE ABOUT PHOTO: This may or may not be the actual broom used in this particular incident.

A LETTER TO MY IMMEDIATE NEIGHBORS: Please find it in your generous hearts to accept my very sincere apology for any disturbance of your blissful sleep which may have been caused by the “scritch, scritch, scritch” of my broom as I made a nuisance of myself on our home’s balcony in the wee hours of the morning of 15 May 2013.

In my attempt to clear off an ocean’s worth of water which had accumulated on the balcony due to someone’s (mine) error of allowing the hose to run on the floor of the balcony for an entire hour after dutifully watering the hanging plants as requested by my out-of-town husband, I fear that the loud “scritch, scritch, scritch” of the broom sweeping the water over the side of said balcony and echoing throughout the neighborhood most likely had you all in fits of frustration, not to mention frightening animals and young children with my mismatched sweats and wild (but freshly washed!) hair do. As luck would have it, Dave has spotlights trained on the front of our house, thus fully illuminating my haute couture look for all the world to see.

In my desperation to avoid a repeat of the bubbling of a wall in our otherwise well-built home’s interior and the San Francisco streets-like buckling of our hardwood floor due to accumulated melted snow seeping through the floor of the balcony earlier this year, I bit the bullet and did what I had to do: Face the wrath of you forgiving! kind! patient! nonjudgmental! neighbors and sweep my little heart out.

Two thoughts kept running through my noggin as I was sloshing in inches of water for an entire 30 minutes at 12:30 a.m. First, I totally related to the feelings of futility suffered by Sisyphus of Greek mythology (when will I ever run out of water to sweep?), and second, I am quite certain I have now usurped away the title of “that one neighbor lady who, um, makes us say, ‘whaaaa?’” from the previous title holder, the mother of one of Dave’s high school friends who was happened upon by teenager Dave one day as he pulled into his buddy’s driveway and saw the woman up on her roof. Sweeping. With a broom. In a housedress. (But, at least she was doing her sweeping during regular business hours, unlike me.) Yes, that auspicious title is now mine.

So, with much love for you, my awesome, awesome, wonderful, lovely neighbors, I beg for your forgiveness and understanding, and in a blatant attempt to curry your favor once again, ice cream will be delivered to your doorstep upon request. (Please specify flavor.)

Very Sincerely,
Your Embarrassed (and achy) Midnight Sweeper

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