Some of you are well aware of the travesty that occurred in my ‘hood over the summer. That’s right. My neighbors moved. Not across town (which is like a mile away anyway) or even an hour away. Nope. To North Carolina.
Whatever, great job opportunity. Whatever.
When the hubs and I moved into our house BB (Before Boo), our neighbors were a couple about our age with a baby boy. We were hopeful — new friends? Possible friend for our someday child? We never knew. They weren’t chatty, which totally says a lot if you know me and the hubs. We’re not a chatty folk. Eventually, they put their house on the market. Great. What kind of peeps would we get this time around?
Enter young family #2, complete with a little girl who would become Boo’s first friend. Our neighbors were kick-ass. Like I just made eggplant parm, do you guys wanna come over kick-ass. (Seriously, that actually happened. We were already making pizza and we all ended up with a pretty sweet dinner.) These were old-school Can I borrow an egg? or I’m running to the store, do you need anything? neighbors. Bliss. Little girl soon after had a little brother, Boo’s second friend. Double bliss.
Well, this summer came. Happy face for the new job opp. Sad face for the moving to NC. Bye bye, wonderful neighbors. Sniff. Sniff. Now whose cake decorating tools am I going to borrow? Geesh.
And crap. Who will we get this time?
Enter Fantasy Neighbor. (Hey, hubs has Fantasy Football; I make my own games.)
Fantasy Neighbor is kick-ass in her own right. She loves kids and thinks my son is the most adorable child she’s ever met. She has gobs of energy and enjoys his company immensely. On a weekly basis, she texts me to say Hey, send him on over and we’ll bake together (or do crafts…or knit…whatever). Then she sends the baked goods/masterpieces/handmade scarves to my house. Boo adores Fantasy Neighbor, who is not only super-fun, but also incredibly responsible, certified in CPR and first aid, and has a degree in child psychology. She’s funny, an amazing cook, and invites me over to watch Grey’s Anatomy. Also, she doesn’t roll her eyes while she watches it. (Did you hear that, hubs?)
But alas, Fantasy Neighbor has her flaws. First of all, she’s unemployed. Seriously, how did I never wonder why she had so much time in her schedule? And without a steady income, there’s no way she’s keeping that house, which will obviously go into foreclosure, which would be oh-so-awesome because the house across the street has been in foreclosure for, like, ever. Before you know it, the neighborhood is going to hell in a handbasket (still one of my favorite expressions of all time, because if I were going anywhere — especially hell — a handbasket would be the way to travel.)
Wait — how did I manage to screw up my own Fantasy Neighbor?
Eh, let’s be honest. At this point, I’d be happy with a cat lady who keeps to herself.