New folks have moved upstairs from us. They are a young, straight couple with a baby. They’re interesting. He has long hair that he pulls back into a ponytail despite the obvious onset of male pattern baldness. She smells like patchouli.
The girl won’t do anything without consulting with her guy first. If I ask her if she wants some leftover pasta, the reply will be, “I have to talk to George.” Also, she refuses to identify him as her boyfriend/husband/baby daddy so I don’t know their relationship. Not that it’s any of my business.
But she still seems to hold the pants in the family. He will be out doing something in the yard, and when she calls for George, George comes. They are like some weird hippie version of Father Knows Best.
And the girl is neurotic. She worries about the noises she hears, the smells she smells and what is growing on the outside of her window. But her guy works with refugees so he is always running around Syria or North Africa. So who does she talk to about her concerns? Well, I’m home with the kids.
No, I don’t think that is mold outside your window. I mean, I don’t know anything about mold but I really think it is just dirt.
No, I don’t think that is carbon monoxide. I really don’t think carbon monoxide has a smell.
No, I don’t hear anything strange. I think it’s just noise from the street.
Jen doesn’t like her much. “I guess she reminds me of me.” Jen is actually very neurotic but in ways I find amusing and endearing.
I don’t know how to tell the girl that I really only have room for one neurotic woman in my life, and that position is filled.