Monday, July 26, 2010

A Word to "Broom"hilde

Dear Broomhilde from the Lane,

So I guess you know by now that I've been watching you.

And even if I don't escape to my parents' beach house as often as I'd like, I've been here enough since you moved into this neck of the woods (you know. . . off-season weekends . . .wine-filled-ladies-only getaways . . .the occasional Memorial Day or Fourth of July . . .  and precious weeks - like this one - of vacation time spent alone with Drip Dry . . . ) the point being. . . I've seen enough of your obsessive ways to know what I'm talking about here.

Now it's widely known that the alleyway that runs between the backs of the endless homes on this island is a prime source of entertainment for me - something akin to the Lanes of Limerick, where everyone sees and knows their neighbors' business. . . for we all know that any family on holiday might look happy and content on the front porch of their vacation home, but - much as it is in real life- it's the rear-end that shows the true colors of a family.

Oh, and the rainbow I've seen spawning from your rear-end, Broomhilde!

First, there's your obsession with hanging your laundry on the line.   Now, don't get me wrong. . . I come from a  long distinguished line of clothes hangers myself . . . but never before have I seen so much laundry generated by two people! Tell me. . .do you suffer from an incontinence problem or do you just have a burning need to wash your bathroom rugs each and every day?

And then there's the post-beach shake-and hose-down of every naughty bucket, chair, and umbrella that might have touched a errant grain of sand while being employed for the very purpose it was manufactured . . . followed - barely a half-hour later - by a myriad of freshly-laundered bathing suits and towels adorning the already-overworked clothesline.

And what's with the daily washing of both family cars?   Could they really get that dirty in just one short day?

And even though you live in the first-of-its-kind hermetically-sealed beach house - built without benefit of screens on the windows in order to prevent any chance of the fresh sea-breeze ever flowing in - somehow you have managed to maintain an effective anti-trespassing detector; rushing outside the second someone attempts to turn their car around in your driveway while threatening to notify the local authorities.

But all of this A Mom on Spin has withstood without complaint.

Until today.

Yes. . . today I saw you demonstrate the most inhospitable behavior ever witnessed in the long and richly-storied history of the lane.

Now I ask you. . . would it have killed you to have let that nice old lady cut through your yard to get to the beach?  Oh yes, she was a shoobie no doubt. . . freshly arrived in town and thrilled to be renting a house for the week as was evidenced by the shoes she was wearing to the beach.   And although, I admit, I had already labeled the entire family "cutters", my little playful moniker was bantered about for the benefit of my intimate family circle.  Never would I have ever dreamed of insulting those innocent shoobies to their face!  But not you, Old Broomie!  You had to break the hermetic seal (yes, I think I distinctly heard a whoosh as you opened the door) and run outside like the very lunatic that you are and turn that poor woman away!  That's right. . . you barred her from proceeding further, turned her back on her heels, and forced her to endure the walk of shame back out to the lane.

Shame on you, Broomhilde.  Shame on you!

I bet it was precisely this type of behavior that inspired that husband of yours construct your oh-so-precious clothesline about six-inches too high for you to reach comfortably - forcing you to stand on tippy-toes to hang your laundry.  It may also be why I've seen him aim your spotlessly-cleaned car at puddles in the lane after a rainstorm.  

And yes, Broomhilde, I venture to guess that it also may be the very reason that same husband sneaks to the garage fridge at 5:00 p.m. every evening and sucks down three beers in rapid succession when he thinks that no one is watching!

Oh but someone is!

                                    . . .watching, that is. . .

Signed, the Lady who sits on her back porch all day 
pretending to be reading because she hates the beach 
but really loves people-watching
(a.k.a.. . . )

Oh. . .and another thing?  

It gives me great pleasure to inform you that - although you may have successfully protected your house from all foreign invaders visible to the naked eye - I may, in fact, be pilfering your wireless internet service as I write, for I have recently noticed that my signal gets stronger as I approach your house. . .