Step 1: See My Posterior. Step 2: Kiss It.

So, Scope and I have these neighbors who live one floor below us and I’m pretty certain they are the loony, snot-nosed descendants of Mr. Heckles from Friends. They are snooty, uberpicky and chronically unhappy about random everyday totally normal noises emanating from our condo.

And their constant complaining is SOOOOOOOOOOOO annoying.

*gnashing my teeth*

I’ve met them once. ONCE. When we were struggling to stuff a mammoth glass display case into the elevator on Moving Day. They walked into the lobby, stared at us, rolled their eyes and then took the stairs up.

Nice.

Very nice.

No introductions. No ‘hey, welcome to the building!’ sentiments. No flipping offer to flipping help us with that flipping, flipping heavy display case, the flipping flippers!!!! Nothing but snottiness. And it hasn’t gotten any better from there.

Nope.

They email us now. Oh joy. They email us to lecture and whine and cry and throw hissy fits about what awful neighbors we are because they can *gasp* hear us when we are home.

Yep.

We’re not talking complaints about excessive or ridiculous noises here. No, no, no. It’s not like Scope and I are screaming at each other, having bowling tournaments in our hallway, yodeling “Welcome to the Jungle” or having Richard Simmons and Gilbert Gottfried over for dinner. Nope. We’re talking complaints about average, normal, everyday life noises here. Noises everyone else in this building has the privilege of making without getting hate mail from their neighbors.

Gah!

Last night they sent us ANOTHER rude email. Our horrific crime this time? They heard us walking across our dining room floor.

Yeah.

Walking.

Across the dining room.

Ooh.

Tragic.

Are you kidding me???? Who on Earth emails someone to complain about stuff like THAT???? Who????

That is completely ridiculous, of course. Completely. Ridiculous. When did walking across one’s own dining room become offensive? Hmm? What are we supposed to do, scoot around the house with pillows on our rears until we effectively learn how to levitate from room to room to avoid irritating the Heckles Herd (which is what I am hereby nicknaming them since they’ve never bothered to even tell me their real names: Adolph and Cruella Heckles. Heh heh heh)?

Needless to say last night’s email was the last straw. Scope is boiling mad now (and Scope NEVER gets mad, people!!) and is brewing up a scalding, blistering reply email as we speak.

(Give ‘em hell, Hubba Hubba Hubby!!!!)

As for me, I tend to fight like a girl. Sneakily. Sooo.... the next time I cross our dining room floor, I fully intend to do it while tap dancing in a bikini made of cow bells while banging pots and pans together and yelling "AYIYIYIYIYIYIYIYIYIYIYI!!" like Xena.

So there!

© Coracabana