30 Saturdays of blogging via prompts. Day #2 ….
Something I feel strongly about ….
I thought and thought (and asked everyone in my house) to come up with something that I feel strongly about. I got lots of suggestions like Mountain Dew (which got vetoed due to the fact that I might excessively blog about that already …), Dante (who I do feel strongly about but couldn’t really write a post on), and people who ask stupid questions (which was really just a pointed comment referring to me).
In the end, it was decided that I should definitely tell you about my fight for my swing. Let’s go ahead and get this out of the way … I’m 24 years old and I have a swing in the front yard. Not a cutesy front porch swing. More like a little kid swing that hangs from my tree. And on days when this house gets down right stifling (which may or may not be everyday) I escape to spin around and around and fly high like a kindergartner on my own personal swing. I love my swing. It’s my escaping place. However, this post is not necessarily about my swing but about the neighbors …. The great big tree that swing is hanging in borders the neighbors land. And when I’m at my swing I could quite possibly be considered a peeping tom. [No joke it’s THAT close] My whole life we’ve had the same sweet neighbor. In recent years however her health has declined and she has moved to an assisted living home. The house next door set empty for awhile until one day a truck bursting to the brim with household goods rolled up and just like that we had new neighbors. Immediately, I wanted to be considerate (and not get shot) so we let them know that I do tend to stalk the swing quite often. Now the rest of this may make me sound like either [a] a spoiled brat or [b] a whiny child, but it’s just the way it is. The new neighbors [let’s call them the Smith’s] have children who apparently like to swing. I don’t like people on my swing. I just don’t. However, I have managed to keep the peace by turning a blind eye to the kids on my swing. But the other day a 16 year old boy was perched on my swing spinning around and around. Do you know on the cartoons when the characters turn red and blow steam out their ears? Yup that was me. I was livid. Did I march down there and give him a piece of my mind? Of course not. I’m a wimp. Having thought about it since then I believe I might need to perfect the art of passive-aggressive note writing …
Because I am writing off the top of my head with no editing this may be a bit random and sketchy … however the moral of the story is Don’t Touch Things That Are Not Yours! [There may be a crazy 20-something who might blow her lid and rearrange your face … just sayin]