{grump!} This morning when I headed out for the not-daily-enough two-mile walk, along about 6 ayem, I picked up a branch that had snapped off the neighbor’s silk oak and went to carry it to the giant trash bin in the alley.
Shee-ut! Someone (or possibly last night’s microburst) had tipped over that gigantic thing and rolled it into the middle of the alley. And they’d had themselves a little party, so it seemed, right outside my back wall: a pile of empty Negro Modelo bottles, a Guinness can, an empty Smirnoff bottle, and several stacks of the iconic red Solo cups had been dumped behind the yard.
And as I strolled out of the alley, who should I spot coming out of the empty for-sale house on the corner but the three high-school bud’s who seem to be associated with the real owner of that place. Apparently it was a rental — which explains why the damn thing was allowed to run down despite having been expensively renovated by the previous owners — and now their dad, a gray-haired fellow of the lawyerly class (these young gents look like Brophy Prep or Phoenix Country Day students…they do have a “look” that you can’t miss). The old boy must have decided to get out of the landlord business, so now it’s on the market. And what do you bet Dad has no clue the little darlings spent the night there? He’s probably out of town and “trusting” his straight-arrow-looking sons to behave themselves back at the manse, no doubt located in Northeast Scottsdale or some such.
Presumably they were not actually partying on the far side of my backyard pool — Cassie and Ruby would have gone batshit had any such goings-on been going on — but rather had spent Saturday night in the for-sale house and then, by way of hiding the evidence, carried the clean-up debris over to our alley instead of depositing it in the trash bin behind Dad’s soon-to-be-former rental.
How do I know this? Well, certain Brophy Prep Men of my acquaintance also were given, once upon a time, to perching on rooftops and partying hearty. Actually, in their high-school days we might say they “partied silly,” but…
LOL! The thing about baby boys is that they do grow up to be men!
The lads climbed into their car and drove, ever so carefully, away. (Did you know that one way cops can spot a drunk driver is that when you know you’re plotzed you tend to drive much slower than the speed limit?)
One of Sally’s male relatives was puttering around her garage. We recruited him to right the giant trash bin and drag it back to its assigned place.
See? Men do have their uses. 😉