For three weeks now, a professional painting crew has been scraping, prepping and painting the house across the street. You know, the same painters who must have given themselves whiplash from ogling my scantily clad neighbors. Because of the rains, they've been coming intermittently and seem to be taking forever to get the job done. They set up at 8 AM sharp and begin a conversation that breaks the morning silence. One of them has a baritone voice that probably carries miles and he's the one I have it in for. I can't figure out if I hate him because he has a loud voice and awakens me everyday, or if it's because he sounds exactly like my ex. Probably both. His partner doesn't bother me, either because he is respectfully quiet, or because he can't seem to get a word in edgewise.
In desperation Monday, I looked up their company on line and lo and behold, the loud mouth has a website. I emailed him and told him that some people work nights, and it would be nice if he'd pipe down. So far, it's working. He never emailed me back, but he doesn't start running his yap until 11 now. If I could just get the garbage truck to come by at 11 instead of 8 on Wednesdays, life would be good.
I made a huge dent in the shawl yesterday. There are only 16 pattern rows remaining before I start the border. Thanks to the garbage men, I'll be getting a jump on those rows today.
Photo: Google Images