The One Where the Firemen Never Come

I think of myself as easy-going, which may be wrong, because we all know people who think they are easygoing, but who are decidely NOT easygoing, and I could be one of those. It's like that line from "When Harry Met Sally," when Marie says, "Everyone thinks they have good taste and a sense of humor but they can't all be right."

Anyway, I do try to let the small, stupid stuff float on by me in a small-stupid-stuff cloud, but there are a few things around my neighborhood that should be addressed:

Gnats: Yuck. I was unaware that I had moved to a swamp. I can't walk to the park and back without accidentally swallowing some of these horrid little things. Even if I am sure my mouth is closed, they find a way up my nose because I have to breathe. The only way to scare them away is to wave my arms around in front of me, which causes all the people in cars to honk and wave back because we are just so damn friendly here in the swamp.

Dogs running free: The first time "Pheobe" came bounding across the street toward me and my little dog, I screamed loud enough for the fire department to hear me. This caught the attention of a man watering his lawn (sadly, NOT a firemen) who said, "Oh,that's just Pheobe." Pheobe is a gigantic, red, beastly-looking dog. She does happen to be nice; but that first time, if I'd had a weapon of any kind...well, she would have probably turned it on me, which is why I don't carry weapons. Anyway, we get ambushed by about one freedom-loving dog per week, some of which are not nice like Phoebe. I'm very unhappy about it, because the fire department never comes, no matter how loud I scream.

Babies running free: Last week I came across a toddler, who was teetering along the edge of road wearing only a diaper. I looked around and could see no other toddlers in his gang. The street was strangely quiet, and I wondered for a minute if I was on hidden camera as some kind of reality social experiment, but I wonder that far too much. Anyway, I leaned down and said to the baby, "Where's your mommy?" He stared out me with an open mouth. I realized maybe in this politically-correct day and age I should rephrase, "Where is your legal guardian, who could be a mommy, or a daddy, or two mommies or two daddies?" He closed and opened his mouth a few times, perhaps gathering a few gnats. He reminded me a of a guppy.

I scooped up Guppy and took him to the closest house. I rang the doorbell and a tired looking woman in a bathrobe opened the door. "Is this your baby?" I asked. She stared at me and yelled, "Melanie! You let the baby get out the back door again!" I started to tell her that he was found dangerously close to the road, etc. etc. and she just shut the door. No "Thank you for saving my precious baby," no chocolates, no offers to have the fire department praise me in a little ceremony. Nothing. Rude!

When I got home, as I was pulling my brand-new neon blue recycling bin into the garage, it all became clear. It is obvious that some of the residents of my town have misunderstood our new recyling program. It is only supposed to be newspapers and cardboard, people. I think the flyer said it would be awhile before they can allow metal, plastic, mean dogs, and Guppy babies.