Earlier this evening, a car alarm started going off on our street. This happens several times a week. For some reason, the multi-generational family across the street feels it necessary to protect their large fleet of mid-90’s sedans with blaring sirens. ‘Cause our suburb is so ghetto and all. I am ever annoyed by this and every time it happens, I feel like marching right over there and telling them to turn the alarm off already, NO ONE WANTS TO STEAL YOUR OLD BEAT-UP CAR.

So when the alarm started blaring tonight, of course I was seething. It seemed to be going on forever. My kids thought it was awesome. They were dancing to the rhythm and acting like they were at a rave or something. It just kept going and going. I’m getting more and more incensed. Why aren’t they shutting it off?

Then I notice India is using my keys as a “noisemaker” in her dancing reverie. Wait, those don’t look like my keys . . . my keys don’t have a remote control . . . whose keys are those? Oh yeah, my inlaws left their car here.

Oh wait.


I am the annoying neighbor who is failing to turn off the car alarm.

I walked outside and, I kid you not, half of the family across the street is standing outside glaring at me.

Um, oops?