We have new next door neighbors. This is a good thing, since the people who lived in that house previously broke our car’s rear window last year. It was an accident, sure, but feelings soured very quickly, especially after they refused to pay for it.
The new neighbors are older. I’ve seen the man sitting outside a few times and we’ve waved. I’m not the most social, so this is my curmudgeonly attempt at being friendly.
Over the weekend, he witnessed my parents come and go. On one of those occasions, he stopped my dad before he could shuffle his way inside. He asked how many kids I had then retreated briefly. A few seconds later, he returned bearing gifts.
“For the kids”, he offered kindly.
Which is all very nice. I’m not against fruit. I wish my kids ate fruit. Obviously, though, he doesn’t know my kids.
I’ve had to place these peaches on top of the refrigerator, out of their immediate reach. If I hadn’t, I’m certain I’d be cleaning peach mush out of my carpet courtesy of Buzz. They think they’re toys. Round, fuzzy toys. Fuzzy balls, if you want to go there. Jedi just wanted to walk around with one in his hand. I told him if he touched the peach, he had to eat it. He promptly backed away and hasn’t so much as looked at it since.
You’ve succeeded in a positive first impression, Mr. Neighbor Guy. But if you really want to win (me and) my kids over, you need to come bearing chocolate next time.