Dear Brand-New Next-Door Neighbor,

Thank you for inviting me over this evening. It was very social of you. It was also very overwhelmingly social and impressively intimate of you to tell me:

  • You had cancer.
  • All about how your dogs – that’s multiple dogs, yes – were shot dead by an old neighbor.
  • That your childrens’ names are, essentially Georgette II, Georgette III, and George IV, and the Georgette V and George VI visit on alternate weekends per court order.
  • Everything I could ever ever ever want to know about nesting dolls, tiny ceramic tea sets, Jesus icons, what you picked out the city dump last week, horrible art, how you cannot get the greasy brown splatters off the kitchen cabinets, where you got your barbed wire tattoo, how you loved managing McDonald’s, and more things that I have already blocked out of my mind.
Whatever happened to talk about the weather and such? How about the local school? Good places to eat? HOW ABOUT NOT MAKING MY EARS BLEED, HAH?

When you leave someone’s house thinking, I AM SO SO SO SCREWED, it did NOT go well.