The new neighbors may be swingers.
Or not. I should just shut up. It’s not that I’ve noticed any weird goings on at their house since they moved in. They look nice enough, and I’ve been meaning to go over with a pan of brownies. But it’s too cold to walk across the street. And I don’t bake brownies. Or pretty much anything.
Still, I’ve been thinking I should be neighborly. I thought the opportunity might present itself sometime when they were getting into their car at the same time I was getting into mine, or something. I could yell “hey there!”
Really put myself out there.
My teeny yard is probably more than I can manage.
I’ve suspected this for a long time. My laid back approach to yard work is conspiring with the three garbage cans lined up by the garage, and maybe the red cooler and collection of shoes on the front porch to maintain our reputation as the neighborhood hillbillies.
The previous owners were a retired couple with no kids. I’m not sure what a retired couple with no kids was doing in a house with five bedrooms, but they had it furnished like you might expect for a house that was owned by a retired couple with no kids – separate rooms for sewing and crafts, an office, a guest room and a master bedroom.
The extra rooms are now dedicated to toys and camping gear. And luggage, a drafting table, and tax records. There’s a box of scrapbooking supplies from a brief time in my life when I scrapbooked. There’re two boxes of fabric scraps from a brief time when I quilted. There’s some kites, stacks of books and old Halloween costumes I can’t discard. A fax machine and old computer in a corner hint at our futile efforts to adopt this as our office at one point. We gave up when we couldn’t stave off the junk.