New Neighbors

We met the new neighbors. I had just finished helping some Craigslist dudes move our appliances out of the house, so I was sweaty, breathing heavily, hair exploded, and wearing "work" jeans which feature so many holes that the pocket liners pretty much swing free. I think I made a good impression. "Hey Gayle, met the new neighbors! The husband was a greasy, wild-haired mouth breather who was basically wearing no pants and a shirt that said Probation Fest. I think maybe he just got out of prison? Nice guy."

That's right, I still wear the shirt.