Wednesday, May 9, 2012

The Angry Lady Behind Our House

Donovan calls her the "Angry Lady." And she is often angry, loudly spewing shockingly foul-mouthed diatribe for an old lady. She lives on Oxford Street, one block north of our street, so she's not really our neighbor, but the backyard of our row house is one lot over from hers. Close enough that we can hear her clearly from the upstairs back bedroom of our house. When the warm weather arrives and her sliding doors are open to her kitchen, and our windows are open too, we are subjected to her strange vitriol.

I'm morbidly fascinated by the sheer nastiness of what she says and the bitterness in her voice. To her son. To the elderly man we assume is her husband. She can swear with the worst of them. She can be gruffly nice to her dog -- I'll give her that.

Today she was ranting at someone when Donovan woke from his nap. Who? I have no idea. But we sat at the window and wondered about it. It's not exactly the wholesome content I want Donovan to hear in his own backyard, but we live in Fishtown, not Mr. Rogers' neighborhood.