Maybe I am.
Sure, being single sucks — but I thought I was fine until last Thursday. I was out in the garden, yanking weeds, whistling Dixie, and a handful of other tunes.
That is, until the honking started.
Relentless.
All coming from Doug’s house.
I pulled off my gardening gloves and headed over.
The moment he saw me, Doug shouted, “Go back home, Mr. Edgy!”
What the hell was he talking about?
I was the one minding my own business.
He was the one sitting in the driver’s seat, blaring his horn at god only knows what.
“You alright, Doug?”
“Am I alright?”
He walked toward me — a momentary break from the honking.
“You’re the one always on edge. Always coming over, complaining about one thing or another.”
“Doug, you’re the one blaring the horn.”
“See what I mean?”
“I was checking on you. Making sure you’re okay.”
“Go home. Doug. Find a hobby. Knitting would be perfect for you.”
I left without a word.
Hopped on Amazon.
Two days later, I set up a camping chair on my driveway, adjacent to my car.
Opened the kit and went to town on a winter hat.
Every few minutes, I’d pause from knitting to blare my horn.
Doug, sadly, never came to check on me.
A few other neighbors, however, glanced over with grave concern.
“All’s well!” I called out. “Just working on a new project.”
In between the bundles of yarn — and through these words on the page is an affiliate link.
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