This morning, before eating breakfast, we killed 100 ants with wings that covered the floor inside of our door. She with the spray bottle of cleaner, me with tattered paper towels. Those ants stood no chance, for we have no patience for filth.
Also, a few days ago, we were roasting marshmallows on the gas range. I know what you are thinking, that this is the height of sophistication. Well, yeah. It worked well until I decided to tempt the hot fork with my lip, and now it is all burnt and blistered.
Last night I was in bed reading, for hours, and I heard two gunshots and one massive BOOM!
I have no idea what that was, but knowing the area it could have been either kids playing with firecrackers or a meth lab blowing up. Either way, I screamed like a girl.
The thing that bothered me most, though, was a conversation I heard outside the door. It was a gaggle of teenagers, dirty clothes and dirty mouths. The slang they were speaking was as foreign to me as any Slavic language. I could pick some of it up, and when I understood, I backed away from the window. It was scary stuff. A grocery list of crimes, and the louder their voices, the bigger the felony. Laughter, encouragement ensued. What the hell could motivate someone to not only do these things, these horrible things, but to brag at the top of their dirty lungs about them? I just don't get it. I hope I never do. I don't ever want to understand.
Also, a few days ago, we were roasting marshmallows on the gas range. I know what you are thinking, that this is the height of sophistication. Well, yeah. It worked well until I decided to tempt the hot fork with my lip, and now it is all burnt and blistered.
Last night I was in bed reading, for hours, and I heard two gunshots and one massive BOOM!
I have no idea what that was, but knowing the area it could have been either kids playing with firecrackers or a meth lab blowing up. Either way, I screamed like a girl.
The thing that bothered me most, though, was a conversation I heard outside the door. It was a gaggle of teenagers, dirty clothes and dirty mouths. The slang they were speaking was as foreign to me as any Slavic language. I could pick some of it up, and when I understood, I backed away from the window. It was scary stuff. A grocery list of crimes, and the louder their voices, the bigger the felony. Laughter, encouragement ensued. What the hell could motivate someone to not only do these things, these horrible things, but to brag at the top of their dirty lungs about them? I just don't get it. I hope I never do. I don't ever want to understand.
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