the Husband got home late tonight...later than usual. and, after he got upstairs, he realized he left his cell in the car. so, on his way back to get it, our downstairs neighbor caught him to "chat".
so now i've told you that story to tell you this story.
mostly, when our downstairs neighbor wants to "chat," it usually means he wants to bitch about Sloshy, and the "level of service" we have here at the Casa. then, the discussion turns to our plumbing, and how the plumbers made the same repairs to our neighbor's sink that they did to ours.
but i guess his towels didn't get sopped.
anywhoooo... here's where the still bitchy part comes in.
our neighbor asked Brendan if we "were building a motorcycle in our living room."
uh, no. why?
"because you sure make a lot of noise and drop a lot of stuff."
whoa-whoa-whoa there, cowboy! this coming from a man who has woken me up with either his TV or stereo on WAY FREAKING LOUD.
if you love me, really love me, you'll fill a tranquilizer rifle up with Industrial Strength Midol and shoot it in my ass.
then get me a massage and a margarita.