Love Thy Neighbor Peeping Tom

Since it's DadCentric's Fourth Anniversary Month, we are paying tribute to those without whom it would be somewhat difficult for men to become Dads. We're starting a regular feature - MomCentric! - in which Kool (with a kapital K) Moms will guest post. Our first MomCentrician: Kristine, who is at the helm of a very funny blog entitled Wait In The Van. The Tina Fey of Mommybloggers? We think so.

I try not to talk about my neighbors too much because it turns me into that judgey-mom type (which--let's face it--I totally am, but like to repress...it keeps me healthy). But there's also the fact that we live in a (military) development. And I'm not sure it's ever been cool to talk trash about the military (whatever VIETNAM, you hippies). 

And really, why would I shit where I, um, let my kids play? Heh.  

Well, because.  The answer is BECAUSE.  Because, in my development, women are CATTY and IDENTIFIED BY their HUSBANDS.   Which kind of sucks because it's totally perpetuating a really harsh and judgmental stereotype.  But they're so vain and gossipy that they don't even stop to consider these things.

BITCHES.

Like, there was this whole tent incident involving pajamas, public humiliation and strangulation-by-hair. Which, really, I thought would win me lots of friends, acquaintances, and topic trending. I mean, at least earn me a mention in the monthly newsletter for, like, most dedicated, selfless WIFE/MOTHER/ROCKER OF THE PJ's. In the end, it just resulted in disapproving head shakes and getting snubbed for a Meet-Dr.Cullen-yes-the-Twilight-dude-at-the-mall outing, complete with matching pink t-shirts and posed photo-ops.

(I might have cried a little that night.) 

Like, can I not even be that girl that everyone befriends just to make them feel better about themselves? Like, what the effing H, MAN. (!?)

And THEN. Then, just the other night, my husband hiked up the hill behind our house to ask the neighbors to turn off the flood light in their backyard because HELLO, we're close enough to see you DOING IT out there if anyone were into that kind of thing (Which, unless the dude looks like Edward Cullen and the chick looks like that girl from MythBusters...then, um, no, we're SO not). 

SO. He's hiking up there and decides to knock on their back door because, I don't know--it's closer? Just as he's opening the gate, however, The Wife emerges from the house. Instantly his plan goes awry because his friendly "Hello!" is lost in the sound of her shrilly cry:

"PATRICK! PATRICK! OH MY GOD THERE'S A MAN IN THE BACK YARD! COME QUICK! PAAAATRIIIIICK!"

(I might add that it's broad daylight.)

My husband managed to smooth things over enough that no weapons were discharged nor babies hidden in closets. But not QUITE so smoothly that the oh-my-GOD-gossip pipeline wasn't activated. The next morning we got the news.

Let's just say that in some small, CATTY, military circles, my husband is now known as a Peeping Tom.

Which, I might say, is pretty badass and might get him lots of street cred in, I dunno...Arkansas?

But really, let's be honest.  The weirdness and annoying-ness is not just limited to the wives. Take, for example, this guy across the street who mows his whole yard with a freaking weed-wacker. This, after having spent WEEKS landscaping the fuck out of it and fertilizing with what I can only imagine is some kind of liquid cancer spray (he often wears a mask). Doesn't this break some kind of guy code or something? My theory is yes, because he always does it while wearing cowboy boots. And a cowboy hat. (The mask might even be cowboy, I'm just not from the south.)  Regardless, this is clearly an attempt to cancel out the weed-wacking fau pas and normal people know that the CORRECT way to do so is with evening wear, not country shit.

And, really, I don't even need to discuss his cowboy beer cozy.  Though, I must give credit where it's due: it IS always filled with Shiner Bock.*

*Clearly, the moral of this little story is that I like to see the potential in everyone. Because really, there are times--AHEM--that I might need it in return.  *TING*