Whenever I leave my apartment in the morning wearing heels, I feel the slightest bit of remorse. Down five flights of marble stairs – clack, clack, clack — I am almost positive that I wake up everyone in the building.
But then I remember a particular pair of neighbors and I don’t feel as bad. I am not sure exactly where they are located in the building, but their constant arguing resonates throughout the entire complex.
In the morning, while I am eating my cereal, I hear, “WHY DIDN’T YOU CALL ME LAST NIGHT TO TELL ME YOU WERE GOING TO BE LATE?”
When I get home, however many hours later it’s, “BUT I ALREADY TOLD YOU HOW MUCH I FUCKING LOVE YOU.”
Usually, I try to remain neutral. In most cases, though, I am on the male’s side. It’s like, she never trusted him to begin with, you know, so he has no room to budge. She can be sooo possessive and, quite frankly, crazy. Sometimes, though, I think she might be right. Because if he really loved her, why would he stay out so late every night?
The other day, however, I heard someone else scream, “WHY DON’T YOU TWO BREAK UP? WE’RE SICK OF HEARING YOU FIGHT!”
And then, a chorus of anonymous neighbors chimed in, “YEAH!”
I had no other choice but to run the eight feet from my bedroom to the kitchen window and scream in agreement.
Now that was fun. I love screaming at the top of my lungs. The only thing is, I really wish we didn’t have a screen on our kitchen window, because I’ve always wanted the chance to scream out a window while shaking my fist.