Tuesday, December 16, 2008

Dear (your name here)

Found this inside a Christmas card tucked under my door mat yesterday. I have no idea how long it had been there.
DEAR NEIGHBORS ____Liz______

My last knee replacement surgery went well. The right knee is now going to be replaced.

I leave here December 22 for overnight in the city. I must be at the hospital at 6 am on 12/23. I should leave the hospital 12/27 for the care facility in town for physical therapy. Home in early January.

I will not be driving for while. Fortunately I have friends who will drive me to continued physical therapy until the surgeon says I can drive.

I may need your help getting the garbage cans out or fetching my mail. I hope I may call on you for that help until I can do it. Last time I was driving 4 weeks after surgery. This time it is my right knee - the driving knee - so I may be house bound longer.

My great niece will have a garage opener in case she has to get in. If you see anything wrong - broken windows, smoke coming out, etc., please call 911 and inform my niece at ###-####.

I will stop the mail and newspapers.

Neighbor Lady*

Neighbor Lady is a sixty-something extremely overweight single woman who has seasonally-appropriate plastic animal decorations and a large kitty flag decorating her front porch at all times. She invited us over for muffins shortly after I moved in last year and it was the most awkward and uncomfortable 20 minutes of my entire life. If I remember correctly, Mr. B got the distinct impression that she was not a huge fan of men. I might be making that up.

After that, she attempted to generate a friendship, but as I am fairly anti-social, the most I could handle was a smile and wave across the cul-de-sac.

This is not the first such directive I've received from Neighbor Lady. She handed out an almost identical letter (sans holiday cheer) earlier this year before her first knee surgery. I wish I'd saved it for you -- that one referred to her breast cancer surgery in 2000 and the assistance she required from her neighbors at the time. To establish precedent, I suppose.

I admit, I'm feeling rather put-upon. I doubt I'll be offering to take out her trash or collect her mail. After all, that's what friends are for. I figure the ones driving her to physical therapy should be able to cover it.

I know, my place in hell is already reserved.

*Not her real name


  1. I'm with you, Liz, I wouldn't like that either. How about a phone call to ASK me for my help if you really need it? Or is the bum knee your phone-number-dialing knee?

    I'd call her and tell her I already took out some of her trash, i.e. this ridiculous letter, which I put directly into the trash bin where it belongs.

    See you in Hell.

  2. Not just hell, i think that you and evil twin will be sharing a upgraded junior suite


Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.