Avoiding Neighbours

 

Over the past six or so months, my relationship with my neighbours has improved. After a particularly rocky start to my life of living in a complex, which had me storming down to three different neighbours' flats in various states of attire unsuitable for public viewing, things calmed down. In fact, one might cautiously label our infrequent interactions 'politely uninterested'. Dat's da way I likes it, brother. 

When the one crew pitched up outside my door earlier this year to announce that they were engaged, and that they were having an impromptu party that night, I smiled and congratulated them, and felt all warm and fuzzy about being able to have a civil relationship with the woman who shrieked and drilled holes in her wall one, eventful morning at 7am. 

When the neighbour formerly referred to as Satan, showed up at my door to beg to use my extra parking space on occasion, offering that he now took care not to slam the hell out of his front door at 3am in mimicry of a grenade explosion, I agreed benevolently. 

And when I stormed down the stairs in my white terry gown (which gives me the appearance of a cube) buttoned up to my chin with clown buttons, in order to yell at the screeching children, I felt vindicated when I noticed the terror in their eyes. I felt sure these children would avoid the crazy lady upstairs for years to come. 

Not so. 

In fact, the little horrors are trying to befriend me. Twice last week the two girls – one eight years old and the other nine – accosted me as I returned from work and told me they wanted to come visit. Fortunately I was going out, so I said I couldn't. Then I made a fatal mistake … I asked them their names and what grades they were in. I EXPRESSED INTEREST!!!!!!!! One of them then asked if I'd be able to tell them apart, which I admitted would probably not be possible. 

Friday afternoon. Arrived home from work. No sighting of The Visitors. Breathed sigh of relief. Half an hour later…knock at the door. I am embarrassed to admit that I did not answer the door. I remained quiet until they went away. It reminded me too much of Andrea, who lived across the road from me when I was 10. She harassed my sister and me senseless when we moved into that house, to the extent that we would hide away from her when we saw her approaching the gate. Funny, we never spoke after that…. 

Why do these girls want to be my friend? Maybe I should let them in for a visit- they'll be bored stiff in 10 minutes: no DSTV, no Playstation, no garden. Hmmmm, maybe if I get them to fold my laundry they'll never come back.  

No, the risk is too high. Tell me how to get rid of them, people, please! Children terrify me.