In the Kitchen

“Go to hell,” I said as I leaned against the hot stove.

I am so sick of this man’s complaints. He is always trying to twist what I say into word’s I haven’t thought. Funny how life is. A few years ago, I thought I knew it all. Now, I am certain I don’t.

I looked down at the stove. Damn thing is so scratched up and old, but it still works. Stirring the pot, I tossed in some potatoes and a handful of onions.

Tom sat across the room with his arms folded. Always sitting his big fat butt right in front of the tv. He has an annoying habit of turning up the volume so loud that the neighbors can hear it. I watched him scratch his beard for a second and went back to stirring the pot.

“Hey, when will that be done?” he said. “I have stuff to do”.

” About 10 minutes,” I responded.

Today was not a good day. I was irritated from the day before and so was Tom. Our neighbor to the left of us is a real jerk. We have lived here for over 20 years, and this guy next door never stops looking for trouble. There is nothing worse than living next door to a crabby mean hateful person, except, of course, living WITH that person. I actually pity his wife. She seems nice enough. Kind of a quiet woman. She sits in her yard a lot reading romance novels and soaking in the sun. She keeps to herself and you never hear her complain or raise her voice. I can’t say that for her husband though. The guy has something to say about everything we do. This time, it is because Tom planted a Willow Tree in our backyard, and he thinks its an “eyesore”.  Last week, he was upset because Casey, our youngest, was using chalk on the sidewalk in front of our house and he felt it was tacky. What I wouldn’t do to be able to move away from this guy.