As I stood, looking at my camera, I had the feeling I was being watched. And not by my camera. I turned my attention to the sidewalk in front of my house. A group of my neighbors stood perfectly clad in pink velour track suits, staring, whispering. This group was the Neighborhood Watch. Izzie had affectionately deemed them “The Karens.” Dyed blonde hair cut into the classic Karen shape, acrylic nails that would make Wolverine think twice. These feisty retirees took it upon themselves to patrol the neighborhood at dawn and dusk, searching for Christmas lights that someone left on their house a week too long. Or grass that had grown an eighth of an inch too long. I waved to them. We hadn’t been living there long, and it was not a bad idea to be friendly. The head Karen – also known as Debbie – faked a smile. Others wrinkled their noses. One shot me a frosty glare that gave me goosebumps; she didn’t so much as blink. With my hand raised over my head, my arm brushed up against my head. Then I realized my hair was still wrapped up after my shower. And because I had curly gray hair, I didn’t use a towel. Oh no, I used a t-shirt. On that morning, the shirt was tie-dyed. I lowered my hand. Debbie merely performed a slow blink as she shook her head before turning away. The Karens continued on their route, walking like Daisy Duck in a snit fit.
Nothing Like a Pool Party is coming March 21st.