The garage door is open, the back of the hooptie is up, and I'm unloading groceries. I only leave the garage door open when I am either unloading something or going out to get the mail. I have my hands full of bags as a white SUV driven by a a well-dressed, gray-haired man puts it in reverse and rolls back in front of my driveway.
This makes me nervous. And I will admit, that I get a little jumpier than most in these kind of situations. It *might* have a little something to do with a gun in my face and my purse getting stolen from me by a crackhead in Birmingham. Or maybe I'm just twitchy like that.
But then he puts the window down and speaks. And he wants to know about my next door neighbors. The ones we refer to as the swingers. And all this is for "banking" purposes.
Shut my eyes and feed me a bullfrog.
This same stinkin' house has already been foreclosed on TWO times in the seven years we have lived in this house. And investigators have been by before asking questions about the previous owners.
I only confirm to him that someone does indeed live there. I don't specify who that someone is. And then, when he leaves, I walk over in front of their house to be sure because I haven't seen them since last Thursday. They could have stolen away in the dead of the night. I hear the dog barking, and I know they are still occupying the house.
Seriously people. If that house goes vacant again, I am going to scream. Not nice words either. I'm also going to send Mr. Incredible over there to cut down the cypress tree that drops crap all over my patio year round.