When we bought our house eight years ago I fully expected to be welcomed to the neighborhood with pies. Instead, we get an occasional wave from the cranky seniors next door. All summer long we sit schvitzing on our back porch listening to (THUNK, "Whoo-hoo!") our neighbors' grandchildren jumping off the diving board into the pool we are never invited to enjoy.
Imagine my dismay when I discovered that a Russian family with a nine-year-old daughter and a son Charlie's age have been living in the apartments behind us for a year. I vaguely remember seeing a grandma pushing a baby in a stroller when I was in my post-partum Charlie fog, but it didn't occur to me that the baby would have parents who would want a pie.
So tomorrow night the Russians are coming for a barbecue. Summer is so excited because nine-year-old girls are like the Beatles, or Jesus, or, in my case, Al Gore.
An aside: in 2000 Al Gore and Joe Lieberman had a rally at the park next to my office. They arrived via water taxi with the sunset behind them and, you're going to have to take my word on this, Al Gore is seriously hot in person. At least he was six years ago. Teddy and Joe Kennedy were there too--Teddy looked pale and tired and Joe looked tanned and magnificent--like he was made from some different molecules than everyone else, molecules that come in brighter colors.
Throughout the campaign I was peeved with Joe Lieberman for spouting religiousity on the stump. I prefer my church and my state sold separately. And it was tedious--it seemed to fall into the bad-for-the-Jews category, but maybe I was being overly sensitive. So what do I do when the candidates reach my section and lean forward over the rope to shake my hand? I yell "God bless you Joe Lieberman!" and he says "God bless you too, Sweetheart!" My co-workers just about fell over laughing at me.
Anyway, back to the neighborhood. The same day that I found out about the Russians, I met another family with a nine-year-old girl living in the condo on our other side. They could see into our bathroom window, if we ever opened the blinds. They have been here longer than we have. So now I'm wondering, should I have invited them too? Or is it their own fault for not bringing us a pie?
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