Wifesy and I believe that we have lesbians living next door.  And, no, this is not some kind of existential reference to ourselves.  Next door, technically across the hall, are what we believe to be another duo of lesbians.

 

We could be wrong, but our gaydar says we are right.

 

The thing is – they are quiet lesbians, so we are not really sure.  A couple of times, Wifesy and I have tried to strike up a conversation with the maybe-lezzie ladies.  It usually goes something like this:

 

Wifesy or me approaches the maybe-lesbians as they get on the elevator.

 

Me or Wifesy:  “It’s hot out.”

 

Maybe-lezzies:  “Yep, it’s hot.”

 

Me or Wifesy:  “Good thing there’s a pool here.”

 

Maybe-lezzies:  “We don’t go in it.  Too many kids.”

 

And then the conversation dies a horrible death when, really, all Wifesy and I want to yell is:  “ARE YOU GIRLS GAY?  ARE YOU GAY?  WE DON’T CARE ABOUT THE FECKIN’ POOL, WE WANT TO KNOW IF YOU ARE GAY!!!”

 

Now, of course, it doesn’t matter if they are gay.  But, it is quite a cowinky-dink.  The gays only comprise around 2% of the population and somehow we’re living right next to one another.

 

This happened to us once before and it was an even bigger mind blower.  Wifesy and I were living in Edinburgh, Scotland.  Edinburgh by city standards has a population of only about 500,000 or so.  We lived in a small, middle income community, and for the longest time – living right next door – were hetero couples.  One couple had a baby and moved out, the other couple had a fight, broke up, and took two separate u-hauls to their new separate places.  Then a woman moved in.  She was a bit older than us and she ALWAYS had another woman over.  She was over so often that we thought they both lived there together.  The women had two matching, ENORMOUS, dogs.  They looked like this…

Apparently, this is a leonberger, which means huge, feckin’, dog in German.

 

Now, these two woman were doing it lady-style.  We weren’t guessing this time.  We could hear them, through our adjoining walls.  They did it so often that Wifesy and I started to look at each other as if to say, “Are we not doing it enough?”  It started to feel like a competition.  We were like, “The chubby lesbians, next door, they did it 5 times this week.  Maybe we need to buy some more candles and easy listening music.  You know, to set the atmosphere for more “practice” sessions.”  Hey, practice makes perfect.

Imagine these bears staring at you while you make love. I find it too judgmental.

 

So, the lesbos next door are doing it like lady-rabbits with their leonbergers watching, I’m guessing.  One day, when all was quiet for a change next door, I go outside with my little dog and their big dog promptly tries to eat her through the fence.  I skillfully stop the carnage and the other lez and I manage to strike up a conversation.  I’m saying things like, “My partner this…, Wifesy that, etc.”

 

 

And the woman says to me….“My friend and I.”  And I’m thinking, YOUR WHAAAAAT???!!!  She went on and on, openly professing that her and the other lady of the house were “just friends.”

 

Oh, good god.  I know, everyone has to come out on their own terms, but SHE-SUS CHRIST, these women were in their 40s and when they skipped the light fandango it was louder than a Memorial Day parade.

 

COME ON!!  Who did they think they were fooling?

 

It drove me so crazy that I wanted to audio record their love making and then take my boom box next door.  I’d ring the bell and when they came to the door, I would hit play and raise the stereo over my head like John Cusack in the movie, “Say Anything.”

 

The stereo would play the sound of two birds simultaneously singing and attacking each other violently.  Sorry, but that’s what it sounded like.

 

 

Then I would say calmly, “This…?!  This is how you treat your FRIEND??!!  I wouldn’t treat my friends like this, finger-blasting them until the cows come home.”

 

The fellow tortilla-slapper would stand at the door, gob smacked, while I made my point — Don’t lie about your gay to your gay neighbors who can hear you through the freakin’ walls!  It’s simple, really.

 

We may never know about our neighbor-ladies, currently, across the way because they are not very talkative and we can’t hear a thing through the walls.  And I try.  I frequently take Wifesy’s stethoscope across the hall and hold it up to their door.

 

There is no real point to this post other than it’s interesting that you can live right next door to people and not know a thing about them.  OR – quite the opposite – you feel like you’re in bed with them.

 

What about you?  Any awesome neighbor stores to share?

 

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Photo creds:  neighbors-feature, leonbergers, johncusack

 

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