So last night, our redneck neighbours really outdid themselves.
At 2am, I am awoken by someone POUNDING on my backdoor. Rather, I am awoken by the dog going apeshit crazy because someone is POUNDING on my backdoor. Pounding, in the middle of the pitch dark night. In the middle of the pitch dark night, while my husband is out of town.
It's one of my neighbours, whom I've never actually met. (Helluva way to meet the neighbours!) He was in obvious distress.
To make a looooong story short, lets just say this:
I'm pretty sure that's what the cops call it. In fact I'm positive, because the cop who was standing in my kitchen by the time 2:30am rolled around called it exactly that.
I learned WAY more than one ought to learn about one's neighbours last night. And I learned it all at at fairly ungodly hour! Thankfully, Griffin slept through the whole loud talking mess...that is until I FINALLY snuggled back into bed after a cup of tea, which I got up to consume at 4am after an hour of tossing and turning. It was at the exact moment that I pulled the covers to my neck and let out a long exhale that my son choose to start calling my name.
But now, my husband has THANKFULLY returned to the homestead, I have a nice cold Guinness in my hands, and I am going to set myself in a horizontal position for a little date with Jack Bauer, and a long, (please please god) uninterrupted sleep.
Never a dull moment here, folks!