Dear “The Girls,”
We can’t remember your names. Sorry. You did introduce yourselves, so we should have remembered them, but truth be told we were kind of a mess when we moved in here and details got lost. So we call you “the girls.” As in, “Remember how great it was when the girls lived across the street?”
Since you left, it hasn’t been the same. Sure, back in 2010 I walked across the street to ask if any of the new gals living in “your” house had a few extra feminine hygeine products, and that worked out okay, but really that’s been the bright spot. These days it’s more of a “loud noises at 2am, call the cops because people are fighting” kind of thing over there.
Why did you leave?
Did all the good times just not matter?
Remember when you had a party, and you brought all the neighbors index cards with your contact information, and asked you to let us know if the noise was too much? We didn’t hear anything. And remember that time you had a big desk you were done with so you asked if we wanted it? You knew we had just moved in and might not have all our furniture yet.
And who could forget our first few hectic move-in days, when Best Buy was essentially refusing to deliver our refrigerator, and we were storing our cold food outside on the deck in the ice? I was scared that our frozen wedding cake top wouldn’t survive. C-Man talked to you, and you put it in your freezer, with a little note:
Writing this letter, I’m realizing this whole thing might be our fault. What did we ever do for you? All take and no give doesn’t make a relationship work.
But I promise that we can learn from our mistakes!
Can you come back and we’ll try again?
All the best,
The People Across The Street