Darling neighborhood children,
It's effing hot out. Grown ups, for whatever reason, enjoy sitting downstairs with the window open, having "leisure time" and trying to catch a breeze. Kindly stop screaming, unless you're at the park. Then scream away. No, despite what your parents lead you to believe, where you live is not the park.
Thanks for driving my husband upstairs to listen to music with his headphones on. We could have been having a conversation, but your screams drowned it out.
Absolutely no love,
The Mean(est) Fat Lady
P.S. I saw the remains of an agapanthus bud. I am like Liam Neeson. I have nothing to do all day, except find you and try to scold some sense of propriety into you.
P.P.S. Yes, I used to be a nanny. Yes, I love children. Unless those children are you.
P.P.P.S. I can identify all of you by your screams. It's my superpower. Depending on the screamer, I may or may not be more sympathetic.