This, pictured above, would be my neighbors’ pool. The same pool which they kept uncovered and HEATED for the entire winter of 2009-2010, which saw one of the biggest snowstorms (up until that point) to hit the East Coast on the day I snapped this.
(If this photo looks familiar, then congratulations: that means you’ve been hanging around this blog since almost the beginning, as I first introduced this to yinz with this December 2009 post: It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like … July?)
Anyway, the pool saw some action this fine Sunday morning, and if you’re my Friend over on Facebook, you know of what kind of action I speak of.
Let’s just say that the temperatures weren’t the only steamy thing going on outside this morning.
Let’s back up and set the scene, shall we? Yesterday we get a call that we have a house showing at 11 a.m. and then another one that is pending, but needs to be rescheduled. We spring into action, clean like fiends, and bolt for Starbucks with minutes to spare. Back home, the only sign that there’s been any activity in the house is some mauling of our pillows, which kinda creeped me out, but if turning the house into a Motel 6 or a Den of Iniquity is what it takes to sell the joint, that’s fine with me. (This comes on the heels of the folks who were our last showing – a full month ago – using two out of the four bathrooms in the house.)
So this morning’s fun begins with the cat walking across our faces at 4 a.m., waking me up from a
dream nightmare in which I’ve just attended a fundraiser for a certain rather conservative politician from Pennsylvania whose work on autism issues I greatly admire and respect, but for whom I will not vote for President (if he makes it that far) because of his views on a couple of social issues (mostly involving couples, come to think of it.)
I decide to wake up at the ungodly hour of 5 a.m.
On a Sunday.
By 8 a.m., my coffee’s not kicking in and I decide to go back to bed and try this again in a few hours. I wake up at 10:30 a.m.. The Husband goes outside to smoke a cigar and to read. (Berlin 1961: Kennedy, Khrushchev, and The Most Dangerous Place on Earth, for those who are interested in such things.) I’m cranking Spotify on my laptop, drowning out the nonstop squabbling that’s in full force from our children. Moments later, The Husband comes inside, motions to me to remove my earbuds.
“There’s a family in our driveway that wants to see the house.”
Obviously, there’s a scheduling snafu, probably related to yesterday’s appointments, but we’re happy to have the family come take a look if they don’t mind seeing us in our Sunday best … which means me as The Lady of the House still clad in pajamas at almost 11 a.m. and kids fighting over who’s turn it is for the computer.
This family tumbling out of the minivan parked in our driveway consists of two little kids, including a 9 month old. They get it, they understand. The Husband stalls them a bit while I throw on something more presentable than a tank top sans undergarments and ratty, practically see-through shorts.
In comes the family of four AND the wife’s parents AND their realtor. I zone in on the father and immediately go into full PR mode, thinking that maybe he has some say-so (they struck me as a very traditional type of family) or might be helping with the finances or something. I refer to him as “gentleman” and “sir.”
I tell him that the neighborhood is wonderful, very safe, we’ve got a police officer living across the street and a federal air marshal right next door. Lots of kids. Did they happen to see the park when they drove in? Really, we’ve never had a problem in the four years we’ve been here. Very quiet. A family neighborhood. Family, family, family.
All of my talking points are completely true. This is the type of neighborhood that conservative politicians like the one I dreamed about use for their brochures, with people like me on the steps of our McMansions on half an acre talking casually about The Issues That Matter to You.
We bond over the fact that the prospective buyers are from Pennsylvania and – whaddaya know? – we’re headed to Pennsylvania. This makes us kindred spirits, even though our respective towns are 237 miles apart.
“You’re going to Pittsburgh?” they said. “We’re from York!”
“Oh, we know York!” I yelp. “We’ve driven through York.”
This might be a bit of exaggeration (I know I’ve definitely seen signs for York) but I’m in get-this-house-sold-now mode.
The father strolls over to one of our house’s selling points, the floor to ceiling 14′ windows in the family room. He sees the neighbor’s pool and I know what’s he’s thinking.
“They’re not a problem,” I said, pointing to the glistening pool. “I was worried about them too, to be honest. But they’re not the type to have parties, loud noises, none of that. We’ve never had an issue.”
We wish each other good luck, we all apologize again for the scheduling snafu, we thank each other. The family leaves.
In the mere seconds that this takes, the neighbor’s teenage son and his scantily-clad girlfriend (or friend with benefits, who the hell knows?) appears. I start making lunch and glance out the same windows, and realize exactly what they’re doing in the … um … deep end.
This goes on for 43 minutes (oh, the stamina of the young!), during which my Facebook friends and I entertained each other with our commentary. Alas, for those who had hoped for such, a YouTube video was not technically possible.
Meanwhile, my “Melissa-don’t-you-dare-turn-this-into-a-teachable-moment-for-the-kids” husband has turned into Archie Bunker and is going around the house closing all the blinds. “These politicians who say they don’t want to see same-sex couples kiss? I don’t want to see ANY couple kiss, particularly when it’s right in my own backyard.”
Me, I’m now second-guessing myself as to whether they were there when the Prospective Buyer’s Father and I stood gazing at the pool. I KNOW they weren’t. I mean, I’m pretty certain they weren’t. They COULDN’T have been there … could they? Or have I just gotten too used to ridiculousness like, I don’t know, keeping one’s pool heated during a blizzard (and all winter long).
Who DOES THIS in full view of a house with 14′ floor to ceiling glass windows?
I DID mention this is a family-friendly neighborhood, right?
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