It's been a while since I blogged about the neighbors. It's not that they haven't intrigued me, what with their increasing hillbilly behavior. I'm just so fed up living near them, it pains me to admit they are part of my life. For Memorial Day they brought out the Behemoth. This is the ever growing contraption they use every time it becomes necessary to take little Sammy out of school. Take one part giant pickup truck; add one camping trailer; throw a stolen golf cart into the bed of the truck, and then strap Sammy's bike* to the back of the golf cart and you have the Behemoth.
Add to the Behemoth the three foot tall grass in the backyard, the weed barrier growing around the the golf cart, in it's preferred parking spot in the middle of the yard, the debris field that has become their screen porch, with the bottom of the screen flapping in the breeze, and you have the hillbillies of south Florida.
Even hillbillies like their rock and roll. So imagine the sight of 43 year-old Moira, still carrying around the baby weight from six months ago, not to mention the pre-baby weight from 42 years ago. Dangle a cigarette in her mouth and the baby seat in one hand, (WTF? Doesn't anyone actually hold their babies anymore?) slap a Bret Michaels headband around Moira's forehead, and you've got a fashion trademark.
Thank God it's 95 degrees and 100% humidity. I will not be outside when she comes home, all hot and sweaty.
*Sammy, age 7, taught herself how to ride the bike, because Howard couldn't tear himself away from NASCAR. She even unbolted the training wheels.