May 10, 2006
Come Play With Us... Forever
It's that time of year again -- The Season of the Twins. Yes, it is as ominous as it sounds.
I will be a prisonor in my own home all summer, May through September. Which you wouldn't think would happen in a neighborhood where old people take walks after dark, there's a pastor across the street, and the man next door once got outta the shower to find me some nutmeg. But it does happen. And one day the pastor and nutmeg guy will be telling reporters what a nice, quiet neighbor I was.
There are lots of kids in our neighborhood, including the requisite teenaged boy who apparently broke the bass dial in his car and can't turn it down and who certainly doesn't know anything about the paintball splatters on my garage door. But in general, they're all pretty good kids.
Except for the twins, Vito and Vinny or whatever. They're five years old, and they won't leave me alone.
They're like those twin little dead girls from "The Shining." Without the dresses. Or the Exploding Blood Elevator of Doom. But the wan, parasitic expressions are dead-on. Forgive the pun.
These boys see my car from down the block as I'm coming home from work, so by the time I pull into my driveway, there they are. Waiting for me. And as soon as I open the car door, the questions start.
"Where's your... the guy who lives here?"
"You mean my husband?"
"Yeah, him."
"He's at work."
"Oh. When does he get home?"
"Not until much later."
"Oh. What are you doing?"
"Going inside to start dinner." (Lie.)
"Oh. Can you let Daisy out so we can play with her?"
"Well, I don't let her out in the front yard cuz there's no fence."
"Oh. Can we come in and play with her?"
What the fuck? Didn't they ever learn about Stranger Danger? Don't invite yourself into anyone's house, kid! If they're not already a homicidal maniac, you'll probably drive them to it.
These kids make me dread coming home. I resent their endless questions, their eagerness, their neediness. And I know this makes me an evil, Satan-worshipping, puppy-eating, light-extinguising, flower-whithering, rainbow-squelching Nazi, but when I get home after work, I just want to be left alone. To build my giant sun-blotting-out machine. Is that so wrong?
Oh, also? They ring my doorbell. Over and over and over. And I have to answer it because they know I'm there, and they will just keep ringing.
Sometimes I go out of my way to approach my house from the opposite direction, and maybe they won't see me! Or if they do, I'm so sneaky that it'll be too late, and I'll be inside before they get to my house, and then I can just pretend I don't hear the doorbell because if I didn't see them, they're not there.
Of course, I would never hurt them or be mean to them. I just want them to go away.
One time, Husband and I were going out for dinner. It was still light out, so he reminded me to make sure those twin boys weren't behind the car before I pulled out. Like I'm driving on my permit or something.
So I'm backing up, and I go, "THUMP-thump."
And Husband goes, "You know, when I was little, my uncle once backed over one of the neighbor's kids and killed him."
Oh, for fuck's sake. Of COURSE, he did. Because every time I am being funny, Husband knows someone who got killed that way.
He's like the Dad from Freaks and Geeks -- "My uncle had lots of kids in his neighborhood. Know what happened to them? THEY DIED!"
He's gonna make a great 80 year old man.
Comments
My favorite line from Sam's Dad: "Everyone's a Democrat until they get a little money. Then they come to their senses!"
And be careful of the twins. I bet they have psychic powers, and are in constant telepathic communication with each other, plotting your doom.
Posted by: Marty at May 10, 2006 03:25 PM