As the lightening danced on the lawn and the thunder shook the house, I became a tad bit nervous. I usually love a good summer thunderstorm, but I don’t like it when sirens start blaring and trash cans violently blow down the street like toilet paper.

I peered out the window to see if I saw a twister headed towards  the house, but I saw something far more frightening.

My neighbor, my kind sweet neighbor, has relatives visiting for the summer.

Let me say this first- I am not cool with making fun of people that suffer with mental health issues, but I don’t think my neighbor’s sister has anything really medically wrong with her. I think she’s just plain ole’ crazy in a “Certified Grade-A Batpoop” kind of way.

I took a photo of the following scenario, but I cannot post it here for the masses to see. I would hate for someone local to recognize the woman and tell her that I’m posting strange photos of her all over the internet because she looks like the type to throw bricks and burritos at people for that sort of thing.

But, I can describe what she was doing.

Rain was pouring, thunder was rolling, and my neighbor’s sister was standing in the driveway- in knee socks and a romper. You know those one-piece bubble suit things that babies wear? Well, she was wearing one. But, she isn’t a baby. She hasn’t been a baby since the 50s.

And don’t forget that I said she was wearing knee socks with aforementioned romper. In a thunderstorm.

The hood of her hatchback was popped and she held a running water hose in one hand and a soapy sponge in the other. And she scrubbed her engine.

In knee socks, a baby romper, in a thunderstorm.

Then she put the water hose down, but she continued to hold the sponge, and she drank something from a soggy, paper sack. I’m not saying it was alcohol. It could have been Gatorade or alien urine for all I know, but she was holding a soaking wet brown bag that concealed some kind of beverage.

In knee socks, a baby romper, in a thunderstorm, with a running water hose and a soapy rag, washing her hatchback’s engine.

And then she lit a cigarette. In a thunderstorm.

Because fire and water don’t mix, the cigarette didn’t stay lit. And the soggy brown bag haphazardly hung from her drink. But she continued to wash her engine. In a thunderstorm. And knee socks. And a baby romper.

I stood in my garage and watched her for nearly ten minutes, as she closed the hood and then started waxing her car. And yes, the rain was still pouring.

I finally had to turn away from the show and start supper. When I checked on her later, she and her car were both gone.

Yesterday I heard extremely loud gospel music blaring outside. I thought it was the kind old man across the street, because he is, indeed, sanctified. Listening to gospel music is nothing out of the ordinary for him. I actually enjoy hearing the praise of Jesus when he is working out in his garage. It’s uplifting, I tell you.

But, when the gospel song went off, Conway Twitty immediately came on. I knew the kind old man across the road wasn’t a CT fan, so I walked to the front yard to investigate.

Yes, it was my neighbor’s sister. And she was wearing the familiar tube socks. And knee braces. Beating her car floor mats against the house. Singing Conway Twitty. And occasionally wiggling a hip.

I got a peek inside her car, and I’m not sure why she was so concerned with the floor mats. The interior of the hatchback looked like an episode of “Hoarders: When Stuff Gets Serious”. I’m sure there were a couple of cat carcasses, bent Tupperware lids and a cassette tape of Tiny Tim’s “Tiptoe Through the Tulips” buried somewhere in there.

But she wanted those floor mats clean, alright, so she banged them against the house, Conway serving as her soundtrack.

I’m happy to report that she wasn’t wearing a romper with the knee socks, and it wasn’t raining, either.

Maybe things are looking up, but the summer is young.

I can’t wait to see her do interpretive dance in the garage to Three Dog Night while vaping Coca-Cola flavored e-cigs.

Now that I’ve made horrible fun of a lady that may be an absolutely kind and wonderful soul, you probably think I’m a vicious person that finds myself to be superior to that kind of behavior.

If you’ve read my blog for any amount of time, you know this simply isn’t true. My mental health has probably been questioned nearly as much as my summer entertainment. So, let’s not get it twisted. You know if you saw a grown woman in a romper washing her engine in a thunderstorm while drinking out of a paper bag and trying to light a cigarette in hail, then you’d form an opinion.

Oh, wait, I forgot to mention one thing.

She calls her dog in an extraordinary kind of way. Want to know what she screams all over the neighborhood while searching for the dachshund?

“Here kitty kitty.”

I rest my case.

 

 

 

Conway Twitty knee socks Neighbor rompers summer thunderstorm