a quibble

We have these new neighbors in the condo next door. Two dudes. To be honest, we’re a little confused as to their orientation. They’re a little bit of The Ambiguously Gay Duo — or, well, at least one of them is ambiguously gay. We sit around now, wasting perfectly good breath discussing their orientation because we’re nosy and shallow and contemptible. But that’s neither here nor there. Or, more precisely, it’s not news.

(ed.: Yes, watchers, I said the word “gay.”)

The day they moved in, MB came back from an errand and said, “Okay. A quibble.”

Now when MB says he has a quibble, I will stop whatever I’m doing to hear it because the man doesn’t have quibbles. He’s just not a quibbler. I, on the other hand, am a world-class quibbler. I’m a quibbling virtuoso. The Michelangelo of quibblers. Some people dream; some people achieve; me, I quibble. With feeling, of course. Really, I have no idea what this thing called “life” is. It’s all just one massive quibble to me. Which seems like an oxymoron, but, really, it’s not.

So when MB announced he had a quibble, I stopped whatever I was doing, as previously promised, and said, “Ooooh, what?”

Because, you see, quibbles are never not interesting to me. I care much more about quibbles than legitimate concerns.

“Uhm … they’re using our rock to hold their screen door open.”

“What?”

“They’re using our rock to hold their screen door open.”

Uh-oh. Wait. This is a legitimate concern. I need to over-react to it just to keep it in quibble territory.

“Uhm …. WHAT????”

“Yeah. Our rock is holding their door open so they can move in.”

I ran to the door to see for myself, and, sure enough, there was our rock, OUR ROCK, propping open their screen door so they could, you know, schlep in their cocktail cart and Eames chairs.

Oh, no, no, no, no, no.

Our rock is a rock that we keep next to our front door. It’s smooth and round, about the size of a small shoe. It’s a perfect rock. Beyond that, it means something to us. It’s from somewhere significant to us and it represents something significant to us and it’s NOT to be used by The Ambiguously Gay Duo for a door stop on moving day. Without even asking. And, frankly, HAD they asked, I still would have said no no NO. Sometimes a thing is not just a thing. Sometimes a rock is not just a rock.

So keep your ambiguously gay mitts off my heterosexual rock, mmkay, Slappy?

I stood by the door and watched until they left for another load. Then I leapt out, grabbed our rock, and let their door slam hard. Back inside, I placed the rock safely on a shelf, where it still sits now.

Yeah. Sorry for taking away your door stop, dudes.

So we’re off to a great start with The Ambiguously Gay Duo.

It’s like I always tell MB, “Well, it’s not really home until the neighbors hate me.”

Home sweet home, I guess.