Marital doom

Last night my next door neighbors decided to have a party… again.   I, Pessimistic Pete, was ready for another less than full nights sleep on the weekend.  As I lay in bed reading “Pastures of Heaven”, I heard the whooping a hollering that has frequently awoken my slumber.  I took a Zen moment and tried to train my mind to not awaken at these pestilent disregards for the common man.  I figured training my mind to wake up to the whisper quiet volume my alarm makes would be beneficial. Turns out I was wrong.  Training my mind not to wake up at party sounds is one thing.  Training it not to wake up at the sound of, “WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU DOING ON MY HUSBAND IN MY HOUSE!!”, is something that even the most abyss-full sleepers would not be able to endure.

I was surprised when I looked at my watch and found it to be 5am.  I got more sleep than I thought I would get.  As I listened to the vocal raging saturate my life, I held hope that I might be able to get a couple more hours.  That is until the fight started.   Call me a looky-loo, or call it morbid curiosity, as I got out of bed to view the proceedings via my peep hole.  The fish eye view gave me a visual of several people under the stairs.  Security concerns brought my hand up to the lock to verify where I knew it to be.  Surprise gripped me as I found it to be in the unlock position.  Slowly, so as not to invite their troubles to my door, I slowly twisted the dead bolt into place.  The silent “click” was not silent enough as it caused one of the offenders, completely naked, to jump up from his sitting position and run into his apartment.

I decided that I had enough of that train wreck and got back into bed.  Under mild delusion as the warm covers returned to my body, the unreasonable hope that I would at least be able to snooze myself back to sleep came with the covers.  About ten minuets later the marital discrepancy made its way back to the amplified zone that lies between my door and theirs.  Knowing that this would not be the end, I got up and turned the coffee pot on.  At the risk of encountering them out my back door, I let The Friz out.  Besides I’m sure it was only a matter of time before the noise Frizbe’s nose was making as it sniffed underneath the door brought unwanted attention.  And I’m pretty sure of the potent and fragrant sent that my poor under sexed dog was sniffing at.  As The Friz relieved his bowels outside, I heard the creaking foot steps that old rafters make coming from my upstairs neighbor’s apartment.  I couldn’t help but chuckle.  Seems I wasn’t the only one that was disturbed.  As I sat down to write this I was justified in getting out of bed as I heard, “Honey, unlock the door!”

This true story might seem to come from a callus and unfeeling person, but the end of a marriage under those circumstances is truly sad.  Not only does it not help my position as a human male, but it only goes to prove that our society is loosing ground to unsavory morals.  Casanova might have been able to pull it off to some extent, but in the end he was banned from most of the countries he frequented.