Dear Punk Teenager on the Stupid Mini-Bike,
You are so not cool.
Riding a frickin' LOUD mini-bike up and down the street every day at 3pm is not awesome, sweet, all that, or whatever slang term the kids are using these days. You know why? Because there's a small one hour window during which both of my kids are asleep at the same time, and that happens to be at 3pm. I don't even get that every day, so the days that it does happen are precious to me.
Not anymore.
Because your stupid ride up and down the street invariably wakes one or both of them up. And since they haven't slept long enough they are as grouchy as you are when your mom gets all in your business. Or whatever.
My point is, this is the only time during the week that I have to myself, to do whatever I want. Something akin to freedom. I know it doesn't mean anything to you because you're 16 and the world is yours and you can do anything you want because you are so cool and the closest thing to real responsibility you have is to show up to school for eight hours a day. You don't even have to be awake for all of those eight hours - I know because I was in high school once back in the Pleistocene age. (And if you don't know when that was, then maybe you should work on staying awake during a few of the classes.)
My real point is, cut it out. It's happened four days in a row and it's driving me nuts. One of those times I was even taking an extremely rare nap and your stupid bike woke me up. (See, I don't get to catch up on any missed sleep; I NEVER get to sleep in like you probably do every weekend. I have the world's most reliable alarm clock; his name is Josh and he is always set to 7am.) I wanted to go out there and thrust a broom handle into one of those tiny, whizzing wheels and abruptly end your joy ride. But I didn't because I would probably be expected to clean up the mess.
Again, cut it out.
You're probably not even listening anymore. Why should you listen to me?
Because I've got an extra broom handle waiting in my garage.
Signed,
Your Ancient, 29 Year Old Mom Neighbor
Dear Mother of the Punk Teenager,
For the love of Pete, make your punk teenage son wear a helmet on his stupid mini-bike jaunts. Your his mother, not his friend. And, yes, you can make him. Just find a weakness and exploit it.
Signed,
Your Concerned (for her sanity) Neighbor
You are so not cool.
Riding a frickin' LOUD mini-bike up and down the street every day at 3pm is not awesome, sweet, all that, or whatever slang term the kids are using these days. You know why? Because there's a small one hour window during which both of my kids are asleep at the same time, and that happens to be at 3pm. I don't even get that every day, so the days that it does happen are precious to me.
Not anymore.
Because your stupid ride up and down the street invariably wakes one or both of them up. And since they haven't slept long enough they are as grouchy as you are when your mom gets all in your business. Or whatever.
My point is, this is the only time during the week that I have to myself, to do whatever I want. Something akin to freedom. I know it doesn't mean anything to you because you're 16 and the world is yours and you can do anything you want because you are so cool and the closest thing to real responsibility you have is to show up to school for eight hours a day. You don't even have to be awake for all of those eight hours - I know because I was in high school once back in the Pleistocene age. (And if you don't know when that was, then maybe you should work on staying awake during a few of the classes.)
My real point is, cut it out. It's happened four days in a row and it's driving me nuts. One of those times I was even taking an extremely rare nap and your stupid bike woke me up. (See, I don't get to catch up on any missed sleep; I NEVER get to sleep in like you probably do every weekend. I have the world's most reliable alarm clock; his name is Josh and he is always set to 7am.) I wanted to go out there and thrust a broom handle into one of those tiny, whizzing wheels and abruptly end your joy ride. But I didn't because I would probably be expected to clean up the mess.
Again, cut it out.
You're probably not even listening anymore. Why should you listen to me?
Because I've got an extra broom handle waiting in my garage.
Signed,
Your Ancient, 29 Year Old Mom Neighbor
Dear Mother of the Punk Teenager,
For the love of Pete, make your punk teenage son wear a helmet on his stupid mini-bike jaunts. Your his mother, not his friend. And, yes, you can make him. Just find a weakness and exploit it.
Signed,
Your Concerned (for her sanity) Neighbor
