My backyard neighbour got a pool! I'm jealous. In ground with a massive deck and a hot tub. All that fun to be had...less grass to cut. Totally jealous.
His family gets a lot of good use out of it all too. And that's where there's a problem.
Our little corner of the city is awesome. Lots of kids, teenagers, young couples, old couples...a really good mix of people. Sometimes the kids may get a bit careless on their bikes, some times the oldsters may drive a bit too fast. But for the most part, it works.
Until someone gets a backyard pool!
It's not the splashing. It's not the happy laughter. It's not even the fact that the most noise happens when I'm trying to sleep (my hours are weird to most people, and therefore I'm the one who needs to deal with it, not them).
No, it's the child who screams as though she's about to be murdered, all day! This is not an infant, nor is it a toddler. Just someone who's main form of communicating her joy at having full access to her own backyard pool, is to scream like she's just seen the trailer for The Hills Have Eyes II.
The scream penetrates walls. The TV and stereo won't drown it out. Instead of my hour-and-a-half of shut-eye every afternoon, it's now a crazy mishmash of nappus interuptus, punctuated by dreams that only Wes Craven could have come up with.
In days gone by, I'd carefully plot my revenge. Not some well thought-out scheme, where my point is put across with such perfect clarity that the situation is fixed, and we all learn a valuable life lesson too. No, something meaningless and childish.
But the urge isn't in me now. It's almost as if I'm willing to let them have their fun, no matter how obnoxious it can get.
Guess I'm gettin' old.
His family gets a lot of good use out of it all too. And that's where there's a problem.
Our little corner of the city is awesome. Lots of kids, teenagers, young couples, old couples...a really good mix of people. Sometimes the kids may get a bit careless on their bikes, some times the oldsters may drive a bit too fast. But for the most part, it works.
Until someone gets a backyard pool!
It's not the splashing. It's not the happy laughter. It's not even the fact that the most noise happens when I'm trying to sleep (my hours are weird to most people, and therefore I'm the one who needs to deal with it, not them).
No, it's the child who screams as though she's about to be murdered, all day! This is not an infant, nor is it a toddler. Just someone who's main form of communicating her joy at having full access to her own backyard pool, is to scream like she's just seen the trailer for The Hills Have Eyes II.
The scream penetrates walls. The TV and stereo won't drown it out. Instead of my hour-and-a-half of shut-eye every afternoon, it's now a crazy mishmash of nappus interuptus, punctuated by dreams that only Wes Craven could have come up with.
In days gone by, I'd carefully plot my revenge. Not some well thought-out scheme, where my point is put across with such perfect clarity that the situation is fixed, and we all learn a valuable life lesson too. No, something meaningless and childish.
But the urge isn't in me now. It's almost as if I'm willing to let them have their fun, no matter how obnoxious it can get.
Guess I'm gettin' old.
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