I’ve often wished I could re-live five or ten minutes of my life. I know most people have this wish. People have told me of similar segments of time during which their brains turned right off. But I bet few have watched themselves become the worst kind of self-fulfilling prophecy in the same spectacular way as I did recently.<\/p>\n
There’s a backstory. There always is. About a week ago a muggy, hot day resolved into a cool, still night with such serenity that I gave up any idea of going to be early and went to sit out on my porch and listen to the breeze rustle through the pine trees. Not two minutes after I settled myself on the floorboards of the porch, my downstairs neighbor and the couple that just moved in below her started getting to know each other by bad-mouthing me. At first I was a little taken aback and hurt, but then it got too preposterous to be anything but funny.<\/p>\n
Mr. First Floor was ever so casually mentioning that he’d heard quite a racket above him the night he moved in. Miss Second Floor (who had been building what looked like book cases) said, “Oh, no, that must have been the person on the top floor.” Yep, that’s me, the one who won’t run her dishwasher after 8:30pm because somebody below her might be settling down to sleep, the one who won’t walk in one part of her floor at night or in the morning because it creaks so badly. Yep, that’s me.<\/p>\n
“I guess sound travels pretty well through these buildings,” Mr. First floor conceded, “because I can hear to get up to go to the bathroom every night at three in the morning.”<\/p>\n
“Yep, it sure does,” Miss Second Floor laughed. “Just yesterday I was wondering what in the world you were doing down there. What was all that crashing?” (Mr. First Floor had been putting together a bedroom set.)<\/p>\n
“Oh, I wasn’t doing anything,” Mr. First Floor protested innocently. “That must have been the person on top of us.”<\/p>\n
“I suppose so, she’s so loud!”<\/p>\n
They continued getting to know each other in this vein for quite some time while I sat on my porch trying hard not to giggle out loud. I was torn between just joining their conversation with a hearty “Oh, I KNOW<\/span>” and sitting absolutely quietly so that I could hear more.<\/p>\n So anyway, just days after this I was sitting out there reading a book, sipping iced tea, and watching Pippin (who was out with me in his cat carrier) watch the birds and the flies and anything else that moved. Mr. and Mrs. First Floor were having a gathering of sorts below me. Well, eventually it got too dark to read outside, and the bugs were coming out, so I gathered my book and my tea and took them indoors. Then I returned for the cat. Just as I picked him up, Mrs. First Floor called up to me.<\/p>\n “Hello!”<\/p>\n “Hi” [pause… I should make conversation. I could talk about their garden… no it’s dying, though the weeds are doing well. I could talk about the weather, but how better to draw attention to the fact that I’m the most boring person on earth, and ten years older than her to boot. But she thinks I’m annoying. She thinks I’m stupid. I’m not stupid. What can I talk about that’ll be as un-stupid as possible… and friendly. I’m friendly! I really am!]<\/span><\/p>\n “How are you?” I ask. [Oh, good one. THAT marks you as a scintillating personality, a witty comrade in apartment living.]<\/span><\/p>\n “I’m fine… How are you?” [Well, at least she’s as tongue-tied as I am. But where do we go from here?]<\/span><\/p>\n I stared down at her garden, hoping against hope that it would suddenly spring into vibrant life so I could complement her on it. Even worse, her one-year-old son had run off, so he’d effectively taken himself out of the running for spontaneous conversation.<\/p>\n “Well,” I say, unsure how I’m going to finish this sentence, “… I’ve got my cat here.” [Where did THAT come from? Why is that an excuse for going inside? Was that an excuse for going inside? Was it supposed to be a conversation starter? Who SAYS that?]<\/span><\/p>\n Hoping to keep myself from saying anything else as Pulitzer Prize quality as my previous sentence I muttered something about hoping she’d have a good evening and then retreated indoors. Yeah, now she knows<\/span> I’m annoying and stupid. Great.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" I’ve often wished I could re-live five or ten minutes of my life. I know most people have this wish. People have told me of similar segments of time during which their brains turned right off. But I bet few have watched themselves become the worst kind of self-fulfilling prophecy in the same spectacular way … Continue reading Oh, For a Second Chance<\/span>