Dear Family in 2L,
Allow me to introduce myself. I am the current tenant in 1L, also known as the apartment directly below yours. What's that? You can't hear me? Right. That's because I'm quiet. It's also because you are apparently busy setting the world record for "decibels acheived" in Wii's new game: Clog Hero. I congratulate you, in advance, for undoubtedly holding the game's world record. For a year straight.
When my husband, daughter, and I moved into the apartment below yours a year ago, we had to check our lease on the first night. You see, we were concerned that we'd accidently been placed in an animal shelter...for horses...who are trained in tap dancing.
Initially, we were concerned for you. I came very close to running up with a sack, duct tape, and a club to assist three-stooges-style in taking down what couldn't, in our minds, be anything other than a murderous assaulter. After 5 minutes of this noise turned into twenty, turned into 2 hours, turned into all night long, it suddenly made sense! You are training a herd of small children for the Olympic record for noisy stampeding.
While this is an honorable endeavor, it became quite inconvenient for my husband and I as we attempted get our daughter to sleep at night, what with your practices commencing an hour before her bedtime every day. Every single day.
However, we are true believers in never giving up on your dreams and far be it from us to stop you from acheiving your pint-sized, child-labor-extorted Olympic victory!
It's just that...and, really, I hate to even suggest this...but, is clog dancing a necessary training exercise for these events? And not just that...is clog dancing at midnight necessary? Perhaps a better description for the activity that takes place above our heads would be clog slam dancing. Please, explain to me how you acheive those impossible amplitudes. I have a theory on how. You jump off of chairs, don't you? You jump off of chairs, onto hard wood floors, wearing clogs, while holding 20 lb weights in each hand. Then you drop the weights.
It wasn't until I couldn't hear my friend speaking right next to me over the noise of your 2L adventures that I did something that I'm not proud of. No one would be. I turned into the angry, old mumu-wearing spinster who's frustration takes the form of a broom to the ceiling. Oh yes I did. I pounded the ceiling with the hard, cold handle of a broom. LOUDLY. It took you a few seconds, but miraculously you heard it over your own clatter and there was an eerie moment of silence as my last pound echoed off of the walls in both of our apartments. I threw the broom to the ground, sick over what I'd just done. I wanted to take the moment back. I was sure that you'd sneak down in the middle of the night, break in, and beat me to death with your clogs and honestly, I didn't blame you. Who does that? What am I? Thelma Harper from "Mama's Family?" I was this close to dying of shame, when I noticed it was silent.
You got the hint! I couldn't believe I had let 10 months go by without doing that! There was silence! Sweet, beautiful...unnerving...silence.
Yeah, well, that lasted all of one night.
The training has since been amped up, but it's okay, I'm not worried about it. You see, we are moving on. Literally. We're moving out of the damn building. You are the clear winner. It takes a lot of practice to win like that...and you've certainly had practice.
So, I bid you adieu, family of miniature ponies. May the horse be with you on your way to Olympic gold.
xoxo Miss you (not),
Your quiet, considerate, incredibly good looking neighbor in 1L.
