Monday, February 20, 2012

My Other Profession

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Headlights from the snow machines, shortly before a two hour adventure last weekend including following a moose, Curtis getting stuck, and lots of natural beauty...

When I was a kid my mom called me Private Investigator #57. I have always been one that is interested in knowing everything. In some ways this makes me a great learner, a persistent teacher and someone that is on top of all sorts of information at any given times.

In other ways this has gotten me into trouble.

When I found (and read) my sister's diary in elementary school I lost sleep for weeks until I confessed that I had sneakily read about her conflicts at school.When I discovered a Christmas gift ahead of time, my mom threatened to return all my gifts if I didn't keep my nose out of the planning from then on. I like to know what's going on, and while as an adult I try not to discover information that is none of my business, I do sometimes stumble into it.

A few weeks ago I pulled into our garage and found a rumpled piece of paper sitting in the middle of our downstairs neighbor's parking spot. For those keeping track, this is the neighbor couple that doesn't talk to us, or make eye contact if at all possible. I picked the paper up to throw it away when I saw that it was a receipt from the grocery store. And this is where my investigative instincts kicked in: what do our neighbor's buy at the store? Apparently, they buy pregnancy tests, and random $1 items.

Fast forward a week or two, and I hear a loud discussion eminating from the condo downstairs: "What were you thinking?" loud female shouts, to no response. "You can't be pulling stunts like that if there's a baby around!" Conversation ended. As I walked upstairs, I found myself wondering, wishing I could know more about that "if"--"if there's a baby in the house", as in there is one in the near future? Or as in, hypothetically we are a married couple and eventually we will have one? If only I knew.

Last week as we pulled up to our condo I stopped the car and pointed excitedly past Curtis: "Look at those curtains!" He looked at the side of our building with confusion until I clarified, "the second bedroom of the downstairs condo--those are new curtains!"
"Oh?"
"And they have cartoonish print on them! Those are definitely kid curtains--and they are new."

At this point Curtis had been kept up to date with my building theory about the pregnancy test and overheard heated discussion. He suggested, now that I had even more proof for my theory, that I had the perfect reason to knock on the door downstairs and introduce myself. "Congratulations!" he suggested would be a good opener, "and nice to meet you."

If our neighbors don't like us already, surely the fact that we figured out they are pregnant--without ever having a conversation with them--should do the trick.

1 comment:

  1. you are crazy! and i totally love this! You’re right, we would be a good team in your investigative endeavors. I am always trying to investigate our neighbors.

    Someone left a note on our car last year addressed to “My STallionette.” I was delighted! Nathan said “don’t you dare read that, it’s not ours!” and I said “The heck it’s not! They put it on OUR car!” so I read the delicious and juicy love note, detailing all his sins and how he feels so awful about his many mistakes. If you wanna get back together with stallionette aka Ashley, (as the note later revealed), step one: know that the blue cobalt is not in fact hers, but the girl from the first floor who is, however, delighted at her unexpected windfall. Ultimately though, I folded the note, wrote “Ashley” on the outside underneath “Stallionette”, and taped it to the main door of our building. Next I checked, the note was gone. No clue how things ended with Stallionette and the Mysterious Lover, however. No new curtains revealed anything.

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