We have new neighbors downstairs. The apartment below us has been vacant since last October, as our landlord slowly renovated it. Since we live on the top floor, that means that for the past year, we've been able to be as loud and as weird as we want.
But now we have three people moving into the flat below us, and that means no more midnight floorstompings or impromptu hardwood bocce tourneys. Which is not to say that I think we need to be quiet. NFW. Rather, as I explained to the wife recently, we had an obligation to be exceptionally loud over the next few weeks. She needed to galumph across the kitchen floor, play the stereo at uncomfortable volumes whenever she was home, and chat, or holler, on the phone to other Southerners. ("Hey y'all!")
But I think it went a bit too far last night. I got up in the night, certain there was something important to do in the other room, and went to go do it. About this time, Harper awoke, and saw me, creeping through the doorway. Tip-toeing. Convinved that the pillow next to her was me, and the shadow in the doorway not me, she naturally screamed bloody fucking murder. Fire. Rape. Pillage. Ruin.
I tried to calm her, I said, "it's me!" which I think she heard as "I am here to find the gatekeeper." Or something similarly creepy, because she only screamed louder, and that thing that I had gotten up to do I all of the sudden had to do a lot more because, holy shit, at this point, I was terrified of me/not me, standing in the doorway.
And so it was over just like that, but, I'm still psyched about how well Harper is breaking in the new neighbors.
